Bloodlines
by V.Lee.V
Summary: American witch Aurora Cartwright just had her life flipped upside-down; her biological father is none other than Sirius Black.Desperate for answers and the chance to get to know the father she never knew, she travels to London, unprepared for what follows
1. Heartstring

**So, this is the first chapter of a new story I'm working on, playing on an idea I've had for a while now. The Harry Potter series has always been, and will always be my favorite series, and I admire J.K. Rowling's work exponentially. That being said, I hope you'll stick around for some more of Aurora's story. I plan on sticking to the books as much as possible, but I've always been intrigued by the idea of foreign witches and wizards.**

**Chapter One**

The air was warm and balmy, the humidity that seeped into every nook and cranny melting into her bones as she paced the familiar cobblestones of Salem. It was still brisk enough to require either a light jacket or sweater, but to Aurora it felt like the beaches of the Caribbean; eleven months, nearly a year spent in the northern Arctic gave a girl a new, richer perspective of what cold really was. She earned a few stares from shocked pedestrians she passed along the way, muggles and wizarding folk alike. A white tank top and jean shorts in early May was truly strange, even in a town like Salem, where weird and strange were the main attractions.

She passed by a storefront that she had frequented while still in school, a bookstore that sold the general muggle fiction and mystic books that were entirely false but highly entertaining; and, if you knew where to look, the best spell books in all of Massachusetts. The witch who ran the store, dressed in jeans and a cable knit sweater, recognized Aurora and waved enthusiastically through the window. Aurora smiled back and continued on; she would usually jump at the chance to talk with Emily Dean, but she wasn't here on a social call. She kept walking.

A hidden dirt pathway was concealed behind an overgrown thicket of briars and rose bushes, several ancient, weeping willows, finally coming to bloom, swaying in the breeze. Aurora turned down the sloping path, walking away from the historic town and towards the harbor homes that housed the true locals. The salty brine of the water was refreshing and nostalgic, but rather than feel welcomed by the familiar setting, all she felt was a deep sense of foreboding.

Before she realized it, she had arrived at her destination. A quaint, well-loved cottage painted white with evergreen shutters and matching roof shingles. Wild wisteria climbed the white picket fence that housed in lawns of emerald green grass and hundreds of colorful blooms that had been growing ever since Aurora could remember. Ivy climbed one side of the cottage, and through the open window she could smell the apple pie her mother always made when she was nervous about something. A wreath of bay laurel, clover, coriander, holly, white peonies, rosemary and vervain, restrung with fresh, homegrown herbs every early spring, hung on the painted door, and with a deep breath, Aurora pushed open the gate of the fence and stepped onto the flagstone pathway, now overgrown with weeds that hadn't been plucked yet.

Immediately her ankles were swarmed by the weaving, yowling attentions of a slim, sleek black cat, large green eyes staring up at her as he did figure-eights in and out of her legs. She stooped down and picked him up, plucking a kiss on his head and scratching behind the right ear like he liked.

"Hey, Jinx," she murmured. "How's my pretty boy?" She was rewarded with a fond swipe of his paw to her nose and the rumbling of his pleased purring. She sent him back off, expecting him to go back to hunting field mice, but instead, the cat rubbed against her bare leg, gently pushing her towards the house. Aurora sighed, more reluctant than ever.

Bucking up the last ounces of courage she had, she knocked on the front door, breathing in her nose and out her mouth. She had no reason to be this afraid of coming home; she'd faced down fire and ice breathing dragons with nary a burn. This would be a piece of cake.

The door swung in, framing a slip of a girl no older than fifteen and who shared no resemblance with Aurora. Until she smiled so hugely that it was impossible to deny that they were sisters.

"Rory!" the girl exclaimed, leaping forward to wrap her arms around her older sister's waist. "I didn't know you were coming!"

Aurora hugged her back, unable to fight her own growing grin. "I didn't know I was coming until this morning," she replied, looking down. "Where's Mom and Dad, Emme?"

"Dad's in New York, working on a case," Emme Cartwright said. "Mom's down at the harbor, getting something for dinner."

Aurora followed her sister inside the cottage that they lived in during the summer months, and she was pleased to see that nothing had changed. The kitchen was still bright and sunny, with the oak table still half an inch shorter on one leg. The living room was covered in family photos from the years, and she spotted a six year old version of herself waving at the camera, actually moving now that the house had confirmed she was a witch and not a muggle. The patchwork sofa, covered in an afghan blanket that smelled of Christmas cookies, was still there, and several magazines and almanacs littered the small, black coffee table sitting in the center. Despite her misgivings, Aurora was glad to be home.

Emme came up to her with a glass of lemonade, sitting opposite her at the table, still smiling happily.

"So, what brings you back down here?" her sister asked, peering at Aurora with a fair bit of suspicion and admiration. "Too wild for you in Greenland?"

Aurora snorted, rolling her eyes. "Please," she said mischievously. "I don't know what to do with myself in Salem. It's too tame."

Emme giggled, sipping her drink. Aurora took the time to look at the waifish girl, who had seemed to mature in no time at all. She was still slender, built more like a Veela than a typical American witch. She was average in height, but had a head of golden hair that shimmered to her elbows, not nearly as long or unruly as Aurora's own locks. She had a sweet, open, heart-shaped face with delicate bone structure and a pair of green eyes that looked like jeweled emeralds. She was the exact opposite of her older sister, but when they smiled, revealing two rows of pearly white teeth, they resembled their mother more than anyone could comprehend.

"Mom sent a letter," Aurora explained shrugging her shoulders. "I got it yesterday afternoon, telling me to get here as soon as possible. I was hard pressed to get a portkey from Nuuk to New York, and after another one to Boston, I needed to travel the muggle way for a while; I hate condensed travelling, and the time zones are a bitch."

"I wonder what's up," Emme mused, giggling at Aurora's surly tone. Suddenly, a pure white fluff ball jumped into her lap, mewing loudly and wrapping its large, fluffy tail around her wrist. The Maine Coon stared at Aurora benignly with yellow-green eyes, as if allowing her presence to be acceptable. Emme stroked her cat, whispering to it softly.

"I'm watching you, Evil One," Aurora said under her breath. Maleficent, aka Fi-Fi, had been a gift to Emme when she had started school, four years previously, from their grandmother in New Hampshire. And the cat had been living up to her name ever since.

Maleficent purred obnoxiously, as if proving her point, and settled down on Emme's lap, keeping her eyes half closed but solely focused on Aurora. Aurora glared right back.

"How's school been?" she asked, turning the focus on her sister. "You didn't mention much in your last letter."

Emme groaned out loud. "You would think that since two years have passed since the, _thing_, in Europe, the teachers would lighten up. But no; they still are acting like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is getting ready to cross the Atlantic."

"It's only _been_ two years," Aurora said quietly, feeling that distinct chill of fear that always overwhelmed her when they spoke of Him. That _thing_ that Emme referred to had been happening during the height of her schooling, and always, the talk would be of when the conquest would spread to this side of the pond. The American Ministry of Magic had begun safety precautions nationwide, and many witches and wizards of age had begun signing up to help the cause. It gave her nightmares, and a dose of sympathy she felt for the families affected. But Emme had been young, too young to fully understand the gravity of the situation at hand. "Better to be over-prepared than caught unaware."

Emme rolled her eyes at the mantra that many schools had adopted during the times, but to Aurora, the words couldn't be more real.

The girls heard the back door opening and turned towards the sound, where a middle-aged, still beautiful witch was struggling with a basket of crab legs and fish. Her hair was the same straight, gold color as her youngest daughter's, and she was built just as delicately. Her warm brown eyes, always the color of milk chocolate, brightened exponentially when her eldest daughter hurried to her side, taking the baskets without a word.

"Aurora, you came," she breathed, evident relief staining her cheeks pink.

"Of course I came," Aurora replied, placing the seafood on the granite island in the kitchen. "Your cryptic message had me thinking that someone had died."

Christine's silence crept over the cottage like an awkward mist, and Aurora turned to face her mother. She was refusing to meet her daughter's eyes.

"Mom?" Aurora asked, stepping forward. "_Did_ someone die?"

"Emme, I need you to run into town," Christine said, deflecting the question entirely. A heavy weight landed in Aurora's chest, and she leaned her hands against the back of a wooden chair, watching her mother closely. She handed Emme a list of some sort, and despite her sister's imploring look, Aurora didn't object to her mother's dismissal. With a put out pout, Emme slipped on a pair of sandals and left, looking back once over her shoulder before letting the front door close shut.

Aurora opened her mouth to repeat the frightening question, but her mother beat her to it.

"Your father."

The breath in Aurora's lungs whooshed out in a heart wrenching gasp, and she struggled to remain standing. But, Emme had just said…

"Not Thomas," Christine said slowly. The use of her dad's first name stopped the gaping hole, but now a confused fog swarmed in her head. "Your birth father."

Now she really did collapse into the chair, her head swimming in confusion. "What are you telling me?"

Christine's brown eyes watered in unshed tears, and her voice was choked on emotion. "Something I should have told you a long time ago."

The grandfather clock in the hallway beat the seconds away, all that time during which Aurora stared at her mother in complete disbelief. Christine took a deep breath, fiddling with her long, elegant fingers, usually found tickling the ivory keys of the upright in the manor house back in New Hampshire.

"You know that your father, Thomas, and I, were married in February, and you were born in October," she said carefully. Aurora nodded, unable to breathe easily, let alone speak. "But we weren't married in February of '81. We were married in February of '82, when you were four months old. You're not Thomas's biological daughter, but you are mine."

Aurora continued to stare at her mother, grief and shock and a surprising amount of anger surging through her blood. Seeing the anger, Christine tried to explain. "You were barely a few weeks old when I met Thomas, and I was a single mother, on my own with an infant, struggling to get by in a city. He helped out, and we fell in love. You two clicked instantly, it was as if he should've been your father. And he is, Aurora…no matter what you are thinking right now, he is still your father and he has always loved you. He wanted to be here when I told you, but this is my story, and I needed to tell you."

"So, what you're telling me, is that the last eighteen years has been a lie," Aurora said harshly. "You've been lying to me! All this time!"

"We did what we thought was best," Christine said, her voice barely a whisper. Aurora's mother had always been soft-spoken, shying from any confrontation, and now that she thought about it, her dad had never lost his cool with her either, even if she had deserved it some of the time. Her quick, irrational temper was a trait uniquely her own, just like her physical features, neither resembling her parents. And now she knew why. But just this once, she wished her mother would get angry.

"How is lying to me best?" she asked sarcastically. "Were you ever planning on telling me?"

"Yes, we were, but not until your father's research came in," she said, staring at her daughter miserably. "Your birth father and I had been seeing each other for a few months, nothing serious, just two young people finding company in a dark time. It was right before the end of His first reign, and I was young and scared. Your father was handsome and mysterious and foreign, and while he was here, we spent time together. He didn't know I was expecting when he left for London."

"He's British?" Aurora asked immediately, envisioning her mother falling for that roguish accent like a school girl. Christine nodded.

"I wrote to him when I found out, not asking for anything, just letting him know he would have a child. He never replied to my letters, and I later found out that the address he'd given me didn't exist. As much as I wished it otherwise, I was heartbroken…" her mother paused, staring out the window to look at the water. "But I clung to you without hesitation, and never stopped loving you. I promised myself that no matter what happened, I would still be myself, so I wrote to him when you were born, giving your name and details, and letting him know that I would raise you myself. Again, nothing."

_Well this is just fantastic,_ Aurora thought sarcastically. _A love affair resulting in a kid, with a birth father who turns out to be a scoundrel. Just perfect._

"Thomas was your father from the minute I met him, and he's raised you exactly as he's raised Emme. He loves you, but he made me a promise to find out what had happened to your real father. I didn't believe that he could be this kind of person, so polar opposite to the passionate, loving, loyal man I knew."

Aurora waited, unable to bring herself to scathingly tell her mother that there were plenty of double-crossing men out there; they made these things their only job in life, to find a pretty woman, use her and leave without a word. But she couldn't do that to her mom; it would hurt too much.

"We found out that he never replied to my first letters, because he never received them; the Ministry of Magic confiscated every and all foreign letters to be searched and sorted before sending them off. By the time my letters made it through, he'd been imprisoned in Azkaban, on murder charges."

"Flipping fantastic," Aurora mumbled, dropping her forehead harshly onto the wooden table. "My father's a convicted criminal. Fabulous."

"At that point, we decided it was better not to tell you, because I didn't want you to assume you were the same as him; you were my perfect little girl, and I wasn't going to let anyone hurt you. But, when you were twelve, Thomas received some disturbing news; your birth father had escaped from prison and was on the run, hiding. I was in half a mind to pull you from Salem, I was so scared. I couldn't believe that I'd been stupid enough to send him your information, and I worried that he'd come searching for you. But, he never did."

"Two years ago, when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated, your father and I discovered that your birth father had been accused and imprisoned falsely; he had been innocent of all charges. We decided to try and contact him, firm in the belief that if he was interested in meeting you, we would tell you the truth. We never heard back from the Ministry, or from him, so it never came up. Until now."

Christine took a breath, waiting until Aurora looked up to continue. "You know the situation over in Europe; even now, they are in the process of rebuilding and restoring. Thomas received a letter from Minister Shacklebolt, requesting an audience. It's why he's in New York right now, since the British Minister has been working alongside the American Ministry for help. It was then that we learned that your birth father had been murdered three years ago, right after your 4th year at Salem. Do you remember the witch, Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"You-know-Who's right hand psycho?" Aurora said in surprise. "Yeah, I know about her."

"She killed him, in that duel in the Ministry," Christine said. "It was that duel that brought to light the truth and innocence he'd carried for nearly 14 years."

Aurora ran through the facts in her head, desperately trying to recall the newspaper headlines that had made headway in America back then. She remembered the Ministry Duel, remembered discussing it with several of her friends that summer, and tried to bring up the deceased names that danced around her subconscious tauntingly.

"He left behind no immediate family, that he knew of," she added, having gone back to fiddling her fingers. "He left only a godson, who had only known him a short while."

Christine's eyes found Aurora's, and she could tell that her mother was trying to convey something of great importance to her. "Aurora, do you know how you got your first and middle names?" Sensing that this was no time for sarcasm, she shook her head. "Because your birth father's family had a peculiar penchant for naming their children after stars, constellations, and galaxies. Aurora, coming dawn, the first rays of light, so beautiful and perfect, just like you. And Vela was a constellation of a ship's sails, appropriate since you were born practically on the water." She sighed, a sad smile on her face. "Aurora, your father's godson is a name that the entire wizarding world knows as well as their own. Your father's godson is, was, Harry Potter."

The breath caught in Aurora's throat. That name, practically synonymous with the muggles' Jesus Christ, had been a breath of ease in everyone with a wand. And _his_ godfather, was Aurora's birth father?

"Your father's name was Sirius Black," Christine said, the name ringing loud and clear in Aurora's head. Now, she perfectly recalled the headlines, of his escape and the manhunt which ensued, of his shocking death and the formal apology from the British Ministry. Sirius Black. "And on your birth certificate, it states that your name is not Aurora Vela Cartwright, but Aurora Vela Black."

Aurora breathed deeply, looking at her mother silently. Without a word she pushed away from the table, ignoring her mother's outstretched hand and heading out the back door, the salty sea breeze and sound of the wharf calling to her. She needed to be alone, if only for a while. She needed to think.

**(oOoOoOoOoOo)**

The sky had turned a murky kind of violet, the sun dipping low over the horizon about a half hour past. The boats were docked, and Aurora had watched as men and women, muggle and wizards, returned home to their loved ones. From her vantage point, a large granite boulder overlooking the Salem harbor, on a hill about five hundred yards away, she wondered if any of them held secrets as big as the one that had shattered her illusion of life. Her arms wrapped around her knees, she sat silently, going over, again and again, what her mom had told her hours ago.

The man she'd called 'dad' all these years wasn't her father; he would always be her Dad, that hadn't changed, and neither had her love for him, but she felt alone, an outsider in a place that was as near and dear to her as any other place. Her Father had been falsely imprisoned; her Father had died in battle, fighting against the evil that had threatened to take over the world; her Father had never known about her, had only known a godson that just so happened to be the most famous, remarkable wizard of the century. And Aurora didn't know what upset her more.

Sirius Black; an unusual name, although in the wizarding community, strange names were nothing new. Her own name hadn't been out of place among the ranks of the girls in her year; Lisbeth, Anouk, and Ember were just a few worth mentioning. In fact, Lisbeth would probably get a real kick if she heard about this. She was obsessed with the British Ministry and was on her way to becoming an Ambassador for the American Ministry now. Aurora shook her head.

She heard the crunching of boots on grass come from behind her, and immediately, based on instinct, she reached for the wand by her side, a hex already in her head should she need it. A familiar chuckle eased her tension, and she went back to her curled position, staring at the lapping waves below her.

"Hey, Dad," she said thickly. "I thought you were in New York."

Thomas Cartwright brushed his palms on the fabric of his slacks before folding himself beside Aurora. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, for the first time really taking in his appearance and desperately searching for any resemblance between them.

He wasn't overly tall, five eleven at most, with sandy brown hair that was starting to salt and pepper at the temples. His face was warm and open, like Emme's, and his emerald green eyes were the same color and shape as hers. He had laugh lines around his mouth and his skin was tanned already from the few weeks of sun that had been afforded. He wore a dress shirt that was unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows, and the simple, braided gold band on his left ring finger shined in the waning light.

They looked nothing alike.

"Just got back," he said, looking at her with his familiar, quirked smile. Noting her expression, he extended a long arm out to her, allowing her to lean into him and lending her a strength she hadn't realized she needed. Aurora leaned her head on his shoulder, and they both gazed out over the water. "Don't be angry with us, Rory," he pleaded quietly. "We didn't want to make you think that you were any less a part of this family, just because _we_ don't share the same DNA. I have loved you since the day I met you, and you are my daughter."

It was nice to hear him reaffirm what her mom had already said, but misgivings still played through her head. For the first time in her entire life, she didn't know who she was, not really.

Thomas shifted slightly, removing something from his pocket and handing it to Aurora silently. She took it with hesitant fingers, staring at the man in the photograph, who flashed a wink and a smile alternatively to the camera. She recognized him from several others she'd glimpsed in the papers over the years, but never had they been as clear and intimate as this one.

He seemed to be tall, or taller than average, maybe six-two or three, dressed in fine clothes of silk and velvet. The picture was dated 1-12-81, and his handsome face was lighter, free from worry, and much younger than the photos in the paper. He had shoulder length, thick black hair with a familiar wave to it, and a matching moustache forming a pointed, groomed goatee on his angular jaw. He had the type of handsomeness that came from aristocratic bone structure, the same bone structure, Aurora realized with a jolt, that she herself had. She traced those high cheekbones that were identical to hers, and the straight Roman nose that she had. His eyes were expressive, full of life and passion, and between their almond shape and their steel gray color, the similarities were too much for Aurora to process at once. She turned the photo away, taking a deep breath.

"I'm told he was an extraordinarily gifted wizard," her Dad said, his soft voice soothing Aurora more than she realized. "A bit mischievous with a hearty temper, but he also became an Animagus when he was still in school to help out a friend of his." He gave her a severe, meaningful look which she studiously ignored. "He was loyal and loved fiercely, and I know that if he had known about you, he would have loved you just as much as your mother and I love you."

Hot tears rolled down Aurora's cheeks, and she leaned into her Dad. "I feel…I don't know what I feel," she said, wiping the tears with the back of her hand.

"You're lost and confused," Thomas supplied, squeezing her arm. "And knowing you the way I do, you want answers."

Aurora pulled back, looking at him and feeling herself break a little more when his loving grin responded. "Is it wrong that I want to find out as much as I can?"

Her Dad kissed her forehead, exactly the way he used to do when she was a little girl. "No, it's not."

Aurora stayed out on that boulder well after Thomas had left and the sky had darkened to midnight.

**(oOoOoOoOoOo)**

New York in the daylight was a sight to behold, full of lights and sounds and smells. But its grandeur was lost on Aurora as she paced her way through the sidewalks, so totally engrossed was she in her mission. She wore traveling clothes, jeans, sneakers and a light sweater and leather jacket, her favorite blue scarf wrapped haphazardly around her neck. She carried nothing but a knap-sack, bewitched with an undetectable extension charm to comfortably keep everything in a smaller space.

She'd taken a portkey from Boston to New York, arriving at the Statue of Liberty, where she apparated from to Times Square early this morning. Now she was on her way to the Chrysler Building, where, unbeknownst to muggles, the headquarters of the American Ministry of Magic resided. To get to London, she'd need to check in there first.

A steady flow of pedestrian traffic walked in and out of those glass, elevator doors, and Aurora seamlessly slipped inside, turning towards the elevators. The one on the far right, with an unexplained chip in the wall, where upon closer examination, a pair of wands intersecting a capital M, could be found. Aurora slipped her wand from her pocket, pressing the tip to the crack and waiting for the tell-tale blue glow to light before concealing it back in its holster inside her jacket. The elevator doors opened and closed directly behind her, keeping any muggles from entering.

"Welcome to the American Ministry of Magic. Please state your business and name." The automatic voice of a clerical woman was clear and polite, but lacked the tone of a real person.

"Aurora Cartwright, travelling to London by portkey," she replied. A small dish, which resembled the scoop where change was dispensed, rattled as a small gold badge dropped into it. It presented:

**Aurora Vela Cartwright**

**Visitor**

**Travelling**

Aurora pinned the button to her jacket, and listened to the woman speak one last time.

"You will need to submit your wand for registration. Have a nice day."

The elevator dropped down, jolting Aurora's stomach to her throat, and came to a similar, uneasy stop, the doors shuddering open to reveal the cool labyrinth of the heart of the Ministry. She stepped out of the metal box, taking in the familiar sights. She'd been coming through here since she'd gotten the job at the Arctic Reserve, and so it was routine when she handed her wand to the wizened witch waiting nearby, a red quill hovering near her ear, waiting to register her.

"Back so soon, Miss Cartwright?" the witch smiled, taking the wand gingerly. Aurora grimaced.

"Urgent business matters, Agatha," she said. The witch laughed.

"Aren't they always urgent matters?" Agatha replied, arching her eyebrow. She pulled out her own wand and gave Aurora's a gentle tap, reading off the gold wording that sprouted from the black tip. With a clear voice, she read, "Ebony wood, dragon heartstring, rigid. Twelve and a half inches."

The quill scribbled the information down, and Agatha handed back the wand, motioning for Aurora to move through the turnstiles. "I imagine I'll be seeing you again," she called, turning to the next wizard in line.

Aurora hurried through the crowded building, turning left at the fork for the travelling department. She passed the Floo Network and the Regulation for Broom Control, finally coming to the check in for International portkeys. A list of pending portkeys glowed on a screen in the center, displaying destinations and departure times. It was updated every few minutes, but Aurora found the one she was looking for and quickly got in its corresponding line. There was only one portkey to London today, on account that it was Sunday, and she couldn't bear to stay in New York another minute, not when so much had to be done.

When it was her turn, she had her identification, passport and galleons ready, eyes firmly planted on her slot. "The London portkey."

The wizard at the desk seemed to take his sweet time as he processed her information, counting out the galleons with relish. It was if he sensed her impatience and had decided to screw with her. At last, he handed her things back, along with a silver ticket, the words LONDON and 11:45 AM printed in green ink. Upon arrival, Aurora knew it would change to red.

"Only one other person travelling to London today," the wizard said genially. Aurora ignored him and weaved her way around the swarming masses, coming to a rest at her gateway, where an old, leather bound book lay, roped off until right before departure time. Seeing as she had a few moments, Aurora went and sat in one of the plastic chairs, catching her breath. She didn't even realize that she wasn't alone, until the tall wizard, dressed in midnight blue robes, spoke to her, his accent undeniably British. It was deep, and strangely reassuring, and Aurora couldn't help but have a sense of deja-vu around him.

"Travelling to London?" he asked, his dark skin contrasting richly with the blue of his robes. Aurora nodded. "First time, I see. Don't worry, it's not as bad as everyone makes it out to be."

"I'm not concerned with London itself," Aurora said. "It's what I'm searching for while there that concerns me." She had no idea why she had just said that; it wasn't like her to just spill her guts to complete strangers. The wizard smiled knowingly, and it was then that Aurora smacked her forehead mentally.

"You're Kingsley Shacklebolt, the British Minister of Magic," she said, taking his slow, confident grin as affirmation.

"And, as your badge clearly states, you must be Aurora Vela Cartwright," Shacklebolt replied, tipping his head towards her. "I believe I met your father, the Auror, Thomas Cartwright? He was quite interested in some of the deaths of some wizards who died in the War."

Aurora turned her head towards the portkey, unsure of what to say. Did the Minister know of the reason her Dad had been so curious? And if he did, had he known her birth father, Sirius?

She didn't get a chance to ask, though, because another automatic voice, this time male, called out to let them know that their portkey would be leaving in exactly one minute, and to assume their positions. Aurora slung her knap-sack over her shoulder, following Kingsley through the ropes and to the tome. Crouching to the ground, she double checked that she had everything she'd need before placing a hand on a corner. The Minister mimicked her movements, and soon, all that Aurora could hear was the automatic voice, counting down the seconds, until she was literally frozen to the book, and her navel was hooked, pulling her into a swirling vortex.

They arrived in the center of what she assumed to be the portkey division of the British Ministry of Magic, and was confirmed of the suspicion when several witches and wizards greeted Kingsley gladly. Even after all this time, Aurora hated the after effects of portkeys more than anything, and it took a bit longer for her head to stop spinning. She was surprised to find Kingsley holding her steady, a kind smile on his face.

"The longer the journey, the worse the spinning," he said, matter of factly. She laughed despite herself.

"Try the one to Greenland," she replied. "It's a real joy."

His grin spread, and something warmed his eyes. Suddenly, a witch came up to Aurora, holding out her hand, a similar floating quill, this one purple, waiting nearby. Aurora handed the witch her wand. They didn't waste any time here in London.

"Good evening, Minister," she said briefly. Kingsley smiled, subjecting his own wand to examination of a youngish looking wizard in bright green robes.

"Good evening, Delta," he replied, laughter quirking the corners of his lips at her brusque demeanor.

Delta tapped Aurora's wand, and began to read. "Ebony wood, rigid, twelve and a half inches in length, with a core of…" Here, she trailed off, confusion creasing her forehead. "It says dragon heartstring, but I've never seen one quite like this."

"It's the heartstring of a female Arctic Icepick," Aurora supplied, watching the witch's eyes widen and then narrow in suspicion.

"My dear girl," she said superiorly. Aurora bristled at the patronizing tone. "There is no such thing as an Arctic Icepick dragon."

"Is that so?" Aurora drawled, sarcasm laced in every word. "Then you might want to tell that to the witches and wizards at the Arctic Dragon Reserve, whose sole job it is to protect and preserve the endangered creatures. They are rare, nearly extinct, and I happened to get that heartstring from a female who died from sustaining wounds while protecting her nest of eggs from dragon poachers; she gave it to me. But surely, if you say that they don't exist, than that wand core of mine is a fake. Or, your own wand has lied to you."

Aurora watched as indignation colored the witch's face, and from the corner of her eye she saw Kingsley, whose examination had ended minutes ago, cover his mouth with a hand, silencing his ill-timed laughter. Delta handed Aurora her wand back and turned without a word.

Kingsley clapped a hand on Aurora's shoulder, shaking his head in a way that made her feel as if he hadn't had a good laugh in a long time.

"You remind me a great deal of him," he said, looking into her eyes. She stood frozen, shock stilling her limbs. "Your father was always ready with a sarcastic tongue, and I'm glad to see it didn't end with him. Here," he said, slipping a piece of parchment into her hand. She wondered when he'd found time to write it. "This will take you to the answers you seek." He stepped away, immediately being flanked by several Ministry aides. He waved, his deep voice travelling despite the distance. "I wish you luck, Aurora Black."

**(oOoOoOoOoOoOo)**

"Molly, I do believe you've outdone yourself," Arthur Weasley said heartily. Murmurs of agreement sounded around the Burrow kitchen, and the matriarch smiled despite herself. She looked around at her brood, the children she'd had and then ones she'd practically adopted, and gave another sigh of relief that it was finally, and truly over. She stood up, waving her wand with a practiced ease and clearing the dishes.

"Who's up for some treacle tart?" she called, pleased when she received several resounding volunteers.

"Mum," Ginny Weasley said suddenly, her intense gaze trained at the back window. "Someone's at the back gate."

Immediately, the men were on their feet, wands at the ready. Most especially was the wiry young man, green eyes framed in round-rimmed glasses, who stepped in front of Ginny as if it were second nature. His head of unruly black hair was a stark contrast to the sea of flame, but for Harry Potter, the Weasleys were his family, and he would die before letting any of them get hurt again.

"Bloody reporters," Arthur swore. "Can't let Harry alone for a week, can they?"

Wand still raised, Arthur led the charge into the back yard, flanked by his sons, Harry, who was good as, Ginny, Hermione Granger and Molly.

Standing by the gate, looking quite startled at the army of people descending on her, was a girl, around the same age as Ginny, and by no means a reporter, or a threat. Sensing this, Harry lowered his wand, initiating a similar response in everyone else. He moved to the front of the group, taking in the appearance of a girl who'd been travelling.

She was tall, around five-eight, with a body that any man, taken or single, would admire. Her skin was smooth and pale as porcelain, and she had aristocratic features that seemed to echo a face Harry had known before, and she was beautiful. Not his type, but still striking. She had thick, raven black hair, which reached down to her waist in effortless waves, and high arching brows and an expressive mouth. Each of her ears had three piercings, and she wore another ring on a silver chain around her swanlike throat. She was dressed in muggle wear, totally comfortable, despite her strange surroundings.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, unable to keep the accusatory tone from his voice.

Her gaze, which had been flickering from each of the Weasleys' faces and wands, zeroed in on him with a focus that surprised him. It was then he noticed that she was clutching a black wand in her right hand, in a relaxed pose that said she had been ready for a fight, it ready she needed to be.

"My name is Aurora Cartwright," she said clearly, her voice a ringing soprano, spoken with a familiar cadence to it. Harry couldn't understand how it could be familiar though, because he'd never met an American witch in his life. "Except, my last name isn't Cartwright, not anymore. Not since I found out that the man who's been raising me the last eighteen years isn't my biological father."

Her eyes were fixed on Harry, and with a breathless gasp, he felt as if someone had socked him in the stomach. He'd never truly understood what people meant when they said he had his mother, Lily's, eyes. But now, he knew. He understood.

The face…the smooth lilt…even the way she held her wand, firmly but loose enough, as if to say, 'I could take you in my sleep.'

But those eyes…steel gray and almond shaped, more expressive when they were angered or burdened by sadness.

It was like looking at his dead godfather all over again.

"My name is Aurora Vela Black," the girl said. "I'm Sirius's daughter."

**Thoughts? Questions, comments or concerns? Please review! I love feedback!**


	2. Orion

**And here's the second chapter!**

**Chapter Two**

"Sirius didn't have any children," Arthur said immediately, looking to Molly for confirmation. But Mrs. Weasley had seen the same things that Harry had, and she was at a complete loss for words. Had it not been for the facts that she knew for certain, that Sirius had never mentioned fathering a child, Molly would have had no qualms in confirming that this girl, Aurora Vela, was Sirius's daughter.

Aurora, for her part, saw the shock on the company's faces and was able to empathize; she'd only discovered the facts herself hours ago. Tucking her hair behind her right ear, a nervous quirk she'd done ever since she could remember, she took a deep breath and tried to find the last bit of courage that she hadn't used when Apparating here.

"My parents, my mom and step-father," she grimaced, still unused to calling Thomas Cartwright her step-dad, "kept the truth from me my whole life, seeing as they hadn't known what had happened to him. International correspondence is shaky at best, and after the debacle in the papers surrounding his arrests, escape and what not, my mom didn't know what to believe or what not to believe."

Aurora's eyes kept trailing back to the black haired boy, whose face, name and reputation preceded him. Harry Potter…the Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One and the Savior. Tri-Wizard Tournament winner and one of the most gifted young wizards of their century.

Her god-brother.

She shook her head, refusing to make that connection. More than the rest of them, this news would affect him the most, and from the hard stare of his brilliant green eyes, she couldn't decide how he was taking it so far. She did know, however, that in a duel, she'd never want to face him down, not with that intense gaze of his.

A throat cleared somewhere near the back of the intimidating group, and Aurora spied a tall, thin young man, with the same bright red hair and smattering of freckles that the rest of his family had. His light blue eyes were glaring at her through horn-rimmed glasses in a suspicious manner.

"Pardon me if I seem skeptical," he said, without any sign of remorse. "But Sirius died four years ago. Why are you just now showing up? Trying to cash in on the family fortune, maybe?"

"Percy!" a younger woman, obviously his sister based on her flaming hair, hissed at him. She was holding Harry's hand tightly in her own and Aurora realized that the two must be in a relationship. She turned her attention back to the man the girl had called Percy.

"I'm not here to pilfer anything of Sirius's," she said, feeling her eyes narrow in his direction. She felt a small glimmer of satisfaction when she saw his Adam's apple bob nervously. "He may be my biological father, but I know that I have no claim to him or his family." Aurora turned back to Harry, whose gaze was still indeterminable. "I just came to London for some answers; who he was, maybe find some similarities between the two of us, I don't know. I only came _here_ based on a slip of paper that Minister Shacklebolt handed me after our portkey arrived."

"Kingsley knows about this?" Harry asked, his voice deep and low, calm in an unsettling way. It was a voice that should've belonged to a much older, much more serious wizard, not the young man whose eyes narrowed in a ringing sense of betrayal. Aurora saw then that Harry Potter didn't trust easily, and that Kingsley Shacklebolt was one of the few who had earned that trust. She'd be damned if he questioned that because of her.

"Not until a day or two ago, I believe," she said honestly. "He came to the American Ministry to speak to my dad, erm, step-father, who had been inquiring after the whereabouts of Sirius. That's when he found out."

Looking around the group, Aurora tried to take inventory of their reactions. The man and woman, who were obviously the parents of every red-haired wizard and witch in front of her, were eyeing her in a mixture of fascination and incredulity; Percy was still glaring at her suspiciously, but he was more focused on her wand-hand than anything else; two more wizards flanked behind Harry and the red haired girl, both slightly shorter than Percy and the other red-haired, blue eyed boy, and a bit more stocky. The one on the left had his hair styled longish, casually cast over the left ear…or what had been a left ear at one point. He was paler than the rest, with darker circles under his light brown eyes, but just as focused. His brother, by happenstance, was the tannest of the group, with sun-burned cheeks and more freckles across his nose than the rest of them combined. His eyes were the same light, sky blue as his two other brothers, but held a distinct clarity to them that made them seem almost like ice. He was wearing a long sleeved flannel over a decidedly worn tank top, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing a lacing of white, raised scars that were familiar to her.

Whoever this man was, he dealt with dragons.

The last red haired wizard was around the same age as Harry, and she recognized both him and the brown haired girl standing close to his side from the countless articles that had been printed over the last two years; Harry's right hand crusaders, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Aurora deduced then that she had arrived, quite literally, on the back door step of the Weasley's home.

_Merlin, Shacklebolt_, Aurora cursed in her head.

A closer look at the girl holding Harry's hand made her head reel in shock, and then she wanted to slap herself for being so clueless and unobservant. She was Ginny Weasley, the youngest new member of the Holyhead Harpies' Reserve team, freshly recruited right out of school, and speculated love interest of the Chosen One. How she hadn't made the connection before, Aurora attributed only to the surreal experience she was a part of.

"I understand that this is a shock for you all," she said quietly, suddenly feeling ashamed of herself for dropping this on them. Here was a group of people who had been more affected and involved in the Second Wizarding War than most, and just as they were getting readjusted to normalcy, she had to go waltzing in and disturb the peace. "And I honestly didn't come here with the intention of upsetting you all. I just wanted some answers. I'll be staying in," she double checked the slip of paper Kingsley had handed her, with the names of two locations on it. She looked to the second one and repeated, "the Leaky Cauldron, for a while at least. I won't disturb you all again."

With one last look at the clan, Aurora took several steps backward, trying to gain some momentum before Apparating.

"When were you born, dear?" the woman said suddenly, in a kind and motherly way that made Aurora like her immediately. Aurora stopped.

"October 31st, 1981," she said automatically. Mrs. Weasley's mouth snapped shut, and she worriedly glanced to Harry, who hadn't said anything after his question about Kingsley. Mr. Weasley, however, spoke up.

"Sirius left for France that early winter," he said suddenly, looking to his wife. "On Dumbledore's orders to try and find a safer location for…" His voice trailed off, and he too, was looking to Harry.

"My mother was staying with cousins of hers in the country," Aurora said. "Her uncle had just had a heart attack, and they needed help around the farm. She told me that they met in the markets."

She looked to Harry, whose hand was clutching Ginny's until his knuckles turned white. "I'll leave now, and I won't take offense if I never see any of you again. I know when I've outstayed my welcome."

With that final statement, Aurora wasted no time in spinning in place, her wand held tightly in her grasp, the familiar sensation of being squeezed through a small pipe a more welcome feeling than the stares of the Weasley family.

When she stopped spinning, she found herself in the middle of London, on a crowded sidewalk and directly in the path of oncoming, oblivious Muggles, on their way home from work. With a cursory glance at her surroundings, she caught sight of a record shop and a bookstore, but her eyes landed on the dilapidated façade of a pub to her right, where a steady stream of customers entered and exited, sometimes with luggage, sometimes with shopping bags. A closer examination revealed them to bear the clothing of witches and wizards out and about in the Muggle world; the disillusionment charms, weak ones designed to keep away only non-magic eyes, she could see through to reveal bright robes and hats of the customers and travelers. A wooden sign swinging creakily by the door, of a witch stirring a brew, told her that this was the Leaky Cauldron.

With a deep breath, Aurora hitched her knapsack higher up on her shoulder and headed through the door, stepping aside briefly to allow a couple of middle aged witches to shuffle through, laden down with bags carrying their day's wares.

Inside, the Leaky Cauldron seemed to be a dark, somewhat dreary, London pub. There were long tables and several booths where people were being served by floating dinnerware, as well as a bar that had seen better days. A door towards the back proclaimed it to house the dining room, and on the opposite side, a sister door led to the Parlor Rooms, '_Reserved for Parties'_. A glass door at the back of the pub showed a glimpse of a large, brick wall which housed in a small, flowered courtyard, where more and more witches and wizards came streaming through. It was crowded and noisy, but filled with warmth that comforted her and the tantalizing scents of delicious food.

A wizened wizard, who was as bald as a cue ball, smiled at her from behind the bar where he was polishing a glass by hand, revealing several missing teeth. But his dark blue eyes sparkled good naturedly, and when he waved his hand, a chair from a vacated table came zooming out towards her.

Before Aurora had even taken a seat, several plates of steaming food were sliding out onto the table, boasting typical London cuisine like bangers 'n' mash and a shepherd's pie that made her mouth water. A mug of golden, frothy liquid came next, and when she took a first tentative sip, she was pleasantly surprised to find that it tasted strongly of butterscotch and cream soda. She dug into the food without a second's hesitation, taking her time to memorize the strange mixture of flavors dancing on her tongue.

A second chair pulled out next to her, squeaking against the hardwood floors, and a glance towards it revealed the barman folding his aged, wiry body beside her. He chuckled as she hastily swallowed, suddenly feeling embarrassed by her lack of manners.

"Please, don't mind me," he said, in a voice weary by years. "You look like you needed a decent meal."

Aurora smiled sheepishly. "Travelling will do that to you, I guess." He nodded in agreement.

"American, eh?" he said, to which she assented. When he saw that she wasn't eating, he wagged his finger at her in mock warning. "If you don't finish that entire plate, and the butterbeer, I'll take that as a great offense. Wouldn't want that, now would we?"

Aurora smiled at his mock severity, deliberately taking a piece of the pie and putting it in her mouth, which brought that semi-toothless grin back to his face. "My name's Tom, and I'm the landlord of this establishment."

"Aurora Cartwright," she answered, swallowing a hastily taken swig of butterbeer. Tom nodded knowingly. "Pleasure to meet you. Your food is incredible."

"Secret recipes," he said with a wink. "Passed down by the establisher, Daisy Dodderidge. No one can ever quite match them, they're always missing those few crucial ingredients that really make the dish." He waited until the plates were filled by nothing more than crumbs before standing up, waving his hand once more so that the dinnerware raced back to the kitchens.

"If you're ready, I'll take you up to your room," Tom said, much to Aurora's surprise.

"Yeah, that'd be great," she answered, suddenly feeling weary to the bone. She reached into her knapsack for her money pouch, only to have Tom vehemently shake his head.

"It's already taken care of, as is your lodging," he said, shocking her further. "For as long as you're in London, every night and every meal you take here has been covered by Minister Shacklebolt." She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, a steely look to his kind blue eyes. "You wouldn't want to offend the Minister's generosity, now would you?"

She chuckled lightly when he grinned crookedly at her, and with a resigned sigh, she took her things and followed him to the back of the pub, where a steeply climbing staircase, dressed handsomely in lush carpeting and polished oak banisters, were at complete odds with the slight shabbiness of the Leaky Cauldron.

Aurora followed Tom up the stairs to the first floor above the pub, whose corridor was lit warmly by candles in wall-mounted sconces. He stopped at the door of room _11_, whose brass numbers hung slightly crooked over the peephole, and handed her an old-fashioned key, a matching numbered tag swinging gently from it.

"If you need anything, anything at all while you're here, just tell the mirror. I hope you have a good stay in London."

With a final smile, he shuffled back off in the direction of the main dining hall, leaving her to her own devices. Aurora turned back to the door, slipping the key into the enchanted lock, listening for the tell-tale double click of a door charmed specifically against simple unlocking spells. Stepping into her room, she found that it was furnished in the same expensive, tasteful manner as the rest of the hotel, with highly polished oak furniture (a four poster bed, dresser, wardrobe, and vanity table), a soft, Persian rug overtop smooth hardwood, a gilt framed mirror on the vanity, and a door leading to an _en-suite_ bathroom.

Feeling more tired than she had since leaving the Reserve, Aurora waved her wand in an arc, unpacking her knapsack instantly instead of the Muggle way she usually did when travelling. She changed into a pair of cotton shorts and a wife-beater before curling under the silk comforter on the feather bed. She sighed blissfully.

"One of those days, hm, dearie?" the mirror commented. She smiled before dropping off into a dreamless sleep.

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

"You two should go after him," Ginny said, watching as Harry wandered off, in the direction of the river that ran along the back of the Burrow. It was a common thinking place that they all shared, and from the steady, determined stride he was using, she knew that he needed to think. "You know him best."

Hermione stepped to the younger girl, pushing her wild hair back from her face as the cool, summer breeze lifted it from its plait. Ginny looked up at her friend, who smiled sadly.

"We may be his best friends, Ginny, but we don't know him as well as you do," she said, instilling a firm confidence in the red-haired young witch. After years of trailing in the wake of the famed trio, Ginny had worked hard to earn the confidence that Harry had so easily shared with his two best friends. Her cheeks warmed gently at Hermione's words.

With a nod, she followed his path, keeping a steady pace to allow him enough time to himself before converging on him. Back inside the Burrow, her parents were talking animatedly about the strange turn of events of the day. Percy had retreated to his old room to send an owl to Kingsley, to confirm that what the girl, Aurora, had claimed, was the truth. George was clearing off the dishes that they had left carelessly behind, and Charlie had disappeared to his room to pack; he was heading back to the Reserve in the morning.

When she came to the river, she found Harry ankle deep in its depths, his trousers rolled up and his shoes and socks discarded on the grassy bank. His hands were deeply shoved in his pockets, his head tilted up towards the sky, deep in thought. His eyes were closed, and his face was smooth, free from the wrinkling of his mouth and brows that usually signaled his deep consternation.

When he didn't take notice of her beside him, she chuckled, watching as a vivid green eye popped open to peer at her from behind dark rimmed glasses in question.

"Mad-Eye would have a litter of kneazles is he knew that I snuck up on you," she said, looking out over the rolling hills in the distance. Harry let out a snort, closing his eyes again.

"The thought of Mad-Eye having a litter of anything is more than disturbing," he said, his voice just as relaxed as the rest of him. Ginny waited patiently, saying nothing. She didn't have to.

She felt his fingers, sure and warm, lace with hers, squeezing gently. Without a moment's notice he tugged on her arm, pulling her into a lingering embrace; she relaxed her body into the firm contours of his, tucking her face into his shoulder. She felt him bury his face in her long, red hair, taking a deep, reassuring breath.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly, wrapping her free arm tightly around his waist. Her other hand was still locked with his, cradled between them. He sighed, pulling slightly away so he could look down at her.

"I don't know," he said, looking troubled by his indecision. "There's a part of me that wants to deny every word she says, but the other part…" He looked off, trying to form the words. "I look at her and I see Sirius, and I think, 'I can't deny the truth'."

"It's the eyes," Ginny said, echoing his thoughts. "They're _his_ eyes." He nodded, turning back to her.

"But it's also her face," he said sadly, and she knew that he was remembering Sirius. "And her hair and even her mannerisms. Did you notice," he mentioned softly. "The way she holds her wand? Or that when she's uncomfortable, she messes with her hair? It's like…"

"Harry," Ginny said, noticing the tone of his voice with worry. "Don't."

"It's like he's back," he said at last, and when she looked up into his eyes, his beautiful, emerald green eyes, she saw that they were shining with unshed tears. Ginny had only seen Harry cry a few times, and her heart wrenched.

"Harry, she's not Sirius," she said thickly, hugging him tighter. He tipped his head down, leaning his forehead against hers. She'd seen the similarities between Aurora and Sirius, they all had, and though she felt sympathy for the girl, who was around the same age as Ginny herself, she hated what her sudden appearance did to Harry.

"I know, Gin, I know," he said softly. "And that's not what bothers me."

"What is it, then?"

He was quiet a moment, thoughtful, before he answered. "He never knew about her," he said, surprising her. "He never knew that she existed, none of them did. She was born the day Riddle killed my parents, the day that Sirius went after Wormtail and was arrested. If he had known…"

She knew then what he was thinking; that if Sirius had known that he had fathered a child, he would've never gone after Wormtail, not alone anyway. He would've gone with Dumbledore or Remus, and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have been sent to Azkaban. And though she knew, that Harry knew that he would've still been sent to his Muggle Aunt and Uncle, he might have been able to at least see and live with his god-father part-time.

"You can't do this to yourself, Harry," Ginny said, hating the desperate tone to her voice. His hands came up to frame her face, his thumbs smoothing over her cheeks in a gentling motion.

"Sirius never abandoned those he was loyal to, those he cared about," he said, with that intensity of his that had once intimidated her beyond speaking. "And he would've cared about his daughter, no matter what happened between her mother and him. He deserved to have someone who could love him unconditionally."

"Harry, he did," Ginny said, feeling his touch on her skin as an afterthought. "He knew that you loved him. And he loved you like you were his son."

He shook his head, smiling sadly. "For nearly a year I believed him to be a murderer, a traitor. I doubted him; _everyone_ doubted him, Ginny. He was abandoned for twelve years, and all that time, there was a daughter…a daughter who didn't even know he existed. He didn't deserve that."

Ginny didn't know what to say to him, and it turned out she didn't need to. Harry leaned in, gently pressing his lips to hers for a soft kiss. Her arms tightened around his waist, and she found herself leaning in for more. She pulled back, feeling her cheeks blush. Harry smiled crookedly at her.

"She should know as much about him as she can," he said, a new determination sparking. The tears were gone, replaced by vibrant light. "I don't want people feeding her lies, not when there's still so much speculation. And I want to get to know her too."

Ginny nodded slowly. "To be honest, I think we all do."

He kissed her once more, much too brief for her preference, and then took her hand in his, leading her up the bank.

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

Aurora woke up the next day with a pounding headache and a dry mouth that felt like a wad of cotton, and she groaned, rolling to her side. The single window on the side wall was bringing in an immense amount of natural sunlight, and the sounds of London in full swing made it impossible for her to go back to sleep. Sitting up in bed, she noticed a silver tray on the nightstand closest to her, holding a labeled elixir that she knew well. She had a steady supply of it in her medicine cabinet at the Reserve for when she returned from travelling long distances. Unstopping the small, violet colored vial, she downed its contents, smacking her lips against the tart, almost sour aftertaste.

"Compliments of the Minister," the mirror said smartly, making Aurora grin. "He sent it early this morning…something about the aftereffects of long portkeys."

Already the migraine was ebbing, and she could feel her mouth return to normal once more. She replaced the vial on the silver tray and decided to test her balance, pushing up onto her feet, relieved when she wasn't dizzy. Grabbing her wand, she wandered into the bathroom, tapping the faucets until steam flooded around her.

A half hour later, dressed in a pair of jeans, blouse and black dragon hide boots, her long black hair in a waving curtain down her back, she stood at the window, staring out into the bustling city below. She needed to send word to her parents, as well as update her superiors at the Reserve, but she had no idea of where she could find an owlery in the middle of London. She voiced the question to the mirror, who answered promptly.

"Diagon Alley, of course," it replied. "Everything a witch or wizard needs can be found in Diagon Alley, including a post office."

"And where can I find this Diagon Alley?" Aurora asked, intrigued at such a place. Most of the stores back in Salem were charmed so that Muggles wouldn't happen to find them, like the book store she'd frequented back home. If there was a place where witches and wizards could congregate and shop, without having to hide their identities, she had to at least see it. The mirror chuckled.

"The Leaky Cauldron is one of the few ways to access it, dearie," it said. If it could, it would've been smiling. "The brick wall at the back of the pub has a code that you must use your wand to access. Tom will be able to tell you."

"Thank you," Aurora said, sticking her wand in its holster, a gift from her friend Anouk for her seventeenth birthday, and retrieving her pouch of gold, she hurried out of her room, pocketing the key after locking the door.

The Leaky Cauldron was decidedly brighter during the day, the sunlight streaming in through the many windows lightening the previously dreary veneer. Already the pub was crowded with locals and regulars, and quickly she spotted Tom's bald head over by the bar, talking with several young wizards stopping by on their way to work.

When he spotted her he smiled, waving her over. She returned the gesture, sliding up onto a barstool with cracked upholster. The wizards Tom had been talking to glanced at her curiously, but she was forced to talk to Tom first.

"Morning, Miss Cartwright," Tom greeted with a good dose of cheer. "Feeling up for a bite?"

"Sure," she said with a grin. "Whatever you got going would be good. And a cup of coffee, if you have it."

Tom waved his hand in a familiar gesture and a plate of eggs, sausage, bacon, mushrooms, and several slices of toast landed in front of her. A large mug of steaming black coffee settled by her right hand, it's thick, rich aroma swirling under her nose. Cream and sugar arrived shortly after, and when she'd poured the right amount of each into the mug, she wasted no time in digging in, although she was mindful of her manners this time around.

"You're American?" asked one of the wizards, a sandy blonde eyebrow rising up a centimeter into his hairline. She polished off the coffee, feeling rejuvenated and ready to tackle the day. Aurora looked to the wizard in question, and found that he was probably older than her by a year or two.

"Yes," she replied. "You're British?"

His brow wrinkled in confusion. "Of course." She nodded.

"Well, now that we've confirmed the obvious, I have things I need to get done," she said sarcastically, earning several deep chuckles and guffaws from his friends and several other wizards and witches around her who'd heard. Tom smothered a laugh behind his smile, clearing her plates away.

"The mirror mentioned something about Diagon Alley?" she said, focusing on Tom. He nodded, motioning towards the door that led out back.

"There's a trash can in the courtyard," he said, polishing a clear glass. "Three bricks up, and two bricks to the right, use your wand to tap that single brick. The entrance will open up."

"Thanks, Tom," Aurora said, sliding off the stool. "I'll see you later."

She maneuvered her way through the pub, shuffling around witches with very young children running around them, until she pushed her way through the back door, breathing in the fresh air and feeling the sunshine on her skin. After a quick look around at the colorful summer blooms, she found the silver trashcan by the corner and headed over to it. Counting the bricks the way Tom had instructed her, she tapped the worn red brick with the tip of her wand, slightly startled when a small white light appeared in the wall.

Slowly, the white light expanded into a large archway, framing what could only be described as the heart of wizarding London. A slow smile spread across Aurora's face, and her feet propelled her forward onto the noisy cobblestoned streets. She was caught up in the masses of witches and wizards, of young children running from store front to store front with delighted squeals and laughter. Sellers called out from temporary stalls and kiosks and the distinct sounds of animals hinted at a menagerie somewhere.

Further in the back was a gigantic, white marble building she'd seen in pictures back home; Gringotts, the only wizarding bank in the world. She hadn't realized that its main building was located here, in the center of Diagon Alley. The small branch in New York was nothing compared to the original's magnificence, and as Aurora began to meander the streets, she took inventory of several shops along the way that she would want to check out later. Her destination, however, was a small, newish storefront, next to Madam Malkin's Robes for Every Occasion. The post office.

Aurora slipped in through the door as a haggard looking witch hurried out, muttering to herself. The post office was cool and darkened, the gentle hooting of hundreds of owls joining the sounds of scribbling quills on parchment and hushed conversations. There were small writing desks where you could compose your letters, for a small surcharge to cover the parchment and ink used, and the back of the office housed hundreds of cubbyholes, where the owls roosted, separated and color coded by the length of journeys they could take. Aurora approached the counter, where a woman in thick spectacles and vivid fuchsia robes that made the white of her hair that much more snowy in color, stood waiting. She smiled when she spotted Aurora, sliding the paper she'd been reading underneath.

"Come to send a letter?" she asked, pushing her sleeves back so that her hands were free. Aurora nodded.

"Two, actually," she replied. "Both international."

The witch nodded vigorously, pulling out a book of transactions. "Where to?"

"Salem, Massachusetts in the United States, and the second is a bit of a mouthful," she said in warning. "It's in Greenland."

The witch's eyes widened behind her spectacles, and she stared long and hard at Aurora. "What's a young witch like you doing in Greenland?"

"I work on the Arctic Dragon Reserve," she said, a note of pride in her voice. The woman released a low whistle, handing her the paper and a quill to write down the destination. Aurora scrawled _Ittoqqortoormiit_on the notepad and handed it back to the witch, who eyed her once more.

"This won't get there tomorrow, and it's not going to be cheap," she warned. Aurora nodded, and then headed to one of the writing desks, dipping a speckled quill in the inkwell before scribing a letter to her parents, letting them know that she was fine and had arrived, briefly mentioning the Minister as well as meeting the Weasley family and Harry Potter himself. She took a second sheaf of parchment and then penned a second letter for Emme, describing everything about London and Diagon Alley, just as she'd promised her before her departure. She was sure to mention seeing Ginny Weasley as well (Emme was a huge fan of the Harpies) before enclosing her love and folding it. She placed both letters into a single envelope and wrote her parents' names and address on the front, placing a self-sticking seal on the back.

Her third letter was for her boss, Edmund Muller, who'd been kind enough to let her go on such short notice and without a concrete return date. Edmund was her mentor and closest confidante up on the Reserve, and Aurora had no qualms in telling him the exact details of her departure and her further delay. She relayed her address at the Leaky Cauldron should he need her for any reason, and promised to be back in the field as soon as possible. After signing that off, she folded it into an envelope, sealed and addressed it, and dropped the appropriate coins into the chests on the writing desk.

Aurora took her two letters back to the counter, where the woman was cooing to two extremely large eagle owls, both blinking their large orange eyes and chirping their beaks at her. Hearing Aurora approach she turned around, smiling as she took the letters.

"Zeus and Poseidon are our two largest birds," she said proudly, double checking the addresses. She turned to the first owl, who held out its right leg, and attached the letter, copying the motion for the second. "Zeus will make a pit stop in Iceland in about three days, and then it'll be around another two to get to Greenland. Poseidon will stop in Ireland in about a day, stop in Nova Scotia in about five, and be in Salem in an additional day and a half. It should get there in about a week."

It was sooner than she'd hoped for. With a nod, she pulled out her leather pouch, indicating to the owls. "How much will it be?"

"Thirty five galleons," the witch said promptly. Aurora counted out the sum and left it on the counter without a word, having hardly made a dent. The witch recounted the coins, humming happily, reassuring Aurora that her letters would be sent as soon as possible. Aurora exited the shop with a deep breath of relief, expelling the putrid smell of so many owls in a single area. Looking around her she decided that today was about exploration; the real work would begin tomorrow.

Satisfied with her decision she began to weave her way in and out of stores, always exiting with more bags than she entered with. By the early afternoon she'd had to charm her bags so that they weighed next to nothing, she was so laden down by them. She'd bought a new set of self-inking quills with brightly colored plumes for both herself and her mother (the ink changed from day to day in over a hundred different shades and colors); several new books that weren't available in the US yet; splurged on a few beautifying potions for Emme, who was going through a phase and was obsessed with Witch Weekly; a pair of Holyhead Harpies robes, the back bewitched so that it displayed the wearer's last name and favorite number, which Aurora planned to give to her sister for Christmas; several boxes of dried lychees and sugared pineapple for her dad, who had a sweet tooth; a beautiful hand-crafted necklace and earrings, made of silver and designed to resemble dragons chasing one another, for herself; as well as several pairs of new robes from Madam Malkin's in royal blue and silver, black with teal piping, a hunter green with gold leaves around the hem, and lavender, with briar roses embroidered along the sleeves and hem, inlaid with silver silk thread and tiny seed pearls (a splurge for a special occasion).

Aurora was finishing a bowl of ice cream from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour when she spotted Eeylops, the Owl Emporium, across the way. Several owls were on display in large, barred cages, hooting to the passerby. She quirked her head to the side, staring at them.

She'd always wanted an owl. In school, she'd instead gotten a cat, as was family tradition, and though she loved Jinx, she couldn't bring him to the Arctic with her. It would be nice to have a companion up North, and one who could deliver letters would save her money in the long run.

Her mind decided, she gathered her shopping day's spoils and walked across the cobbled streets, still crowded and bustling as ever, scooting into the emporium after a group of young boys and girls, all of whom were oohing and ahhing at the birds. Aurora couldn't help but to agree with them. Every species of owl, every color, gender, was in there, ready for sale.

She was eyeing a large screech owl, who was pecking at the bars of his cage, when her eye caught sight of something else. Something large, and beautiful and attracting a lot of attention in the store.

The proprietor of the Emporium was in a valiant struggle with a massive snowy owl, its feathers pure white and its powerful wings beating forcefully against him. He hooted indignantly, his yellow eyes seeming to look at the wizard with disdain, as if he had decided that the man wasn't good enough to handle him. He was a large bird, almost as large as Zeus and Poseidon had been, and he was causing quite a ruckus inside the store, knocking over several empty cages and a tray of leaflets on proper owl care.

The owner was cursing under his breath, doing his best to catch the owl around the middle and pin the wings down, but the bird was smart and a shining bit of admiration for the creature welled up inside Aurora. She decided then, instead of watching one or both of the fighters end in injury, she'd step up and help out. She dealt with dragons on a daily basis; an Arctic owl was no match for her.

She placed her bags behind the counter, hurrying into that part of the store, gently shuffling children and adults alike out of her way. When she was close at hand, she froze, her right arm extended like a branch, and she did something that made many stare at her in concern.

She hooted.

No magic, no spells or wands; she stared into the bright golden eyes of the intelligent owl, offering her arm as a sign of truce, and hooted to him. The owl, who was now on top of the highest window's rim, quirked his head to the side, clicking his black beak at her. She hooted again, her voice low and sounding almost identical to the hoots around her. The Snowy owl ruffled his feathers, and instead of clacking his beak, a sign of annoyance, he barked at her, a clipped _krek-krek_ sound. An alarm call.

"Don't even bother, Miss," the proprietor said, red cheeked and winded. "Stubborn, that one is. Won't listen to anyone."

_He'll listen to me_, Aurora thought, firming her stance up without breaking eye contact. She replied with a gentle mewing sound, which caught the bird's full attention. He ruffled his feathers again, staring at her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. She made the same sound once more.

With a loud, soaring song, the Arctic owl made up his mind, flapping his massive wings to glide down from the rafters, landing firmly onto her arm, settling in comfortably on his new perch. Amongst the applause Aurora received from those still watching, the owl preened, puffing out his chest in an attempt to show off. Aurora brought in her arm, stroking the bird from head to tail, watching as his yellow eyes closed in contentment.

"Like that, do you?" she asked him, to which he cooed.

"Well, at least I know he'll respond to someone," the owner said suddenly, a weary smile on his face. "That bird's given me nothing but trouble since he arrived."

"How much is he?" Aurora asked, continuing to stroke him.

"Hadn't been able to really get close to him in order to determine a price," the wizard said truthfully. "But based on his behavior, I'd sell him for twenty galleons."

"Done," Aurora said, taking out her considerably lighter pouch. "And I'll take a cage and some owl treats as well."

"I'll write up the paperwork," he said, pocketing the gold and disappearing for a moment. A silver cage appeared on the counter and Aurora headed for it, removing an owl treat to feed him. If she hadn't won him over yet, that action had earned her a place in his heart forever. He nibbled on the ends of her fingers affectionately, keeping absolutely still as she placed him in his cage. He shifted on his perch before closing his eyes, dropping off into a sleep. Aurora laughed.

"Any ideas for a name?" the owner asked, handing her the discarded bags she abandoned before she lifted the heavy cage. She looked down at the sleeping bird, a small smile on her face.

"Orion," she said, thinking of the Black tradition of naming their children after the stars and constellations. She was surprised when the owl opened a single large eye and hooted up at her. "I guess he approves."

**What do you think? Please review, I appreciate feedback!**


	3. Surprises

**There's a lot of different POVs in this chapter, but I had fun writing it and I feel like it's setting up the story perfectly. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Three**

Laden down with more bags and purchases than she'd expected, the idea of walking back to the Leaky Cauldron held next to no appeal for Aurora. Glancing down at the snoozing owl, she gripped everything a bit more tightly.

"I hope you don't mind Apparition," she told Orion, who chose that moment to open a curious golden eye. She turned on the spot, embracing the stomach sucking sensation and exhaling a large sigh of relief when she found herself back in her room. Orion ruffled his feathers indignantly, nipping her fingers through the bars of his cage.

"All right, all right," she hushed, plopping everything down in the center of the room unceremoniously. She spotted a polished perch in the corner, by the window, and headed for it, placing the owl's cage on the bureau and unlatching it. Orion soared out of the confines with a whoosh of wings, settling onto the perch comfortably. Aurora pointed her wand at the water dish and murmured, "_Aguamenti_," satisfied when cool water filled it to the brim.

"I'm heading back out for a while," she told her snowy owl. "Will you be alright in here?"

In answer, Orion preened the ends of her hair. She smoothed a hand over top his feathers. Her soft _pop!_ signaling her Disapparition echoed through the room.

Once more in Diagon Alley, Aurora paused at the storefront of a rather flamboyant shop, and one of the busiest in the alley as well. Looking up at the bright magenta sign, she swallowed; Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. A joke shop, although one she didn't know whether she was welcomed into or not.

Taking a deep breath and thinking to herself, _What the hell?_, she pushed through the door, stifling a giggle as a loud belch announced her arrival. Inside, the shop was bustling; children of every and all ages ran from one side to another, and she spotted even a few adults looking for clever gag gifts. Perusing the shelves, she noticed everything from trick wands to candy boxes which were apparently supposed to make you sick, handy for skipping class. Fireworks and Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, and an entire line of products designed for witches; daydream and love potions, even jewelry that resembled Muggle mood rings and pendants. There was a roped off section housing mundane Muggle magic tricks and a display by the front held a case of jewel-toned, fluffy creatures called Pygmy Puffs, which were obviously a main attraction.

All in all, the store was incredibly charming and funny, and she knew that her dad would get a kick out of it. She grabbed a basket, emblazoned with the store's magenta triple W logo, and made her way around, choosing a few things here and there. A reusable hangman (her mom loved to play Scrabble); a few quills for her dad, who was hopeless at spelling; a box of canary creams, which actually transfigured the eater into a canary for a bit; a skiving snackbox for Emme, which she'd have to sneak by their parents; a strange device called an Extendable Ear, which would allow the listener to eavesdrop on conversations; and a few other things as well.

Satisfied with her choices, Aurora hastily made her way up to the counter, relieved when a young witch with short blonde hair and wearing matching magenta robes smiled at her. The nametag on her left lapel declared her to be Verity, and she efficiently began ringing up Aurora's purchases.

"Find everything alright?" she asked, placing the things in a bag.

"Yes," Aurora replied. Verity's eyes widened.

"Don't get many Americans in here," she said conversationally. "Eight galleons and eight sickles."

"Yeah, I just got into London last night," Aurora replied, counting out the appropriate coins. Verity handed her the bags with a smile.

"Good day to you then," she said pleasantly, ringing out the cash register and turning to the next customer. Aurora took her purchases and slipped out of the store, feeling like a ridiculous criminal.

"It's not like I'm doing anything wrong," she muttered to herself.

The sky was getting dark, and her stomach growled something fierce. With a sigh, Aurora apparated back to her room, depositing her purchases haphazardly. Orion called to her, tapping his beak impatiently against the window glass.

"Hungry, are you?" she asked, to which his wings ruffled. "Be careful, okay?"

She unlatched the window, throwing it open, letting in a steady stream of sound. With a last hoot, Orion took off, a splat of white against a navy backdrop.

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

Harry stumbled into his flat, exhausted beyond belief. The amount of paperwork that had been on his desk that morning had been astronomical, and all because they'd been able to round up another Death Eater, instead of just observing the muggle village that had been the mission. On a good day, he was able to get home before seven; the clock on the wall proclaimed the time to be well after eleven.

Rubbing a hand through his unruly hair, he headed for the bathroom, tapping the faucet with the tip of his wand until white hot steam filled the tub. Tonight was a soaking night; he didn't think he'd be able to stand on his own two feet for much longer. Shedding his clothing he climbed in, sighing as the water numbed his skin and bones. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes.

Ginny had a match coming up against Falmouth that weekend, and if he wanted to go, he'd need to get as much work done in the office as possible. His fingers ached at the thought of more writing, and he wondered how he'd ever thought that McGonagall's essays were hard; this paperwork made them look like a morning crossword puzzle. Just as Harry was getting relaxed, the tip of his wand glowed red, pulsating with a deep light. It was a built in alarm that he'd come up with, alongside Hermione and Ron, in the year following the war; too many damn reporters trying to snap a story for the _Prophet_ and other sources. It glowed red when someone Apparated near their homes, and Harry lived in downtown Muggle London. There was no reason for anyone to be Apparating. He gave himself a cursory drying with his wand and quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and a shirt, striding through his flat with more irritation than wariness.

As he approached his front door, the tip of his wand glowed green, a signal that whoever had Apparated here was friend, not foe. With a muttering growl he threw the door open, ready to lash out at the witch or wizard with the sharp end of his tongue, no matter who they were.

"Ginny?" Harry asked, the retort dying in his throat. "What's wrong?"

She was dressed in the Harpies' practice kit, shorts and a tank top of dark green with gold piping, her last name and number in gold across the back. Her long red hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she still had her gloves and shin guards on. In her right hand she clutched the handle of the Firebolt he'd bought her when she'd signed onto the Harpies, and although she was covered in dirt, sweat and grime from the practice, Harry couldn't think properly for a good twenty seconds.

He noticed then that she was fuming, and the fact that she was silent wasn't a good sign. When a Weasley was so angry that they were speechless, it was best to hide for cover. Harry ran over the last few hours and wondered what he had done; when he could think of nothing, he broached the subject bravely.

"Gin? What happened?"

Her brown eyes flashed up to him, and the venom she'd been spewing died out a little. "Ever have one of those days?" she asked. Relieved that it wasn't him that she was angry at he stepped aside, closing the door quietly after she'd stepped over the threshold.

"Yeah," he said with a wry grin. "Today, actually."

Ginny propped her broom up against the wall, stripping off her guards, gloves and trainers along with them. Harry waited, watching her pace around his living room until she wore herself out. With an incoherent groan she flipped around, her hair swinging like a banner, and charged him, entwining one hand into his unruly hair and the other into a fistful of his shirt. Harry was slightly stunned as Ginny kissed him fervently, but soon found himself kissing her back with equal ardor, pulling her body against his snugly. He kissed his way down the long column of her neck, smiling against her skin when she sighed.

Ginny's hands moved restlessly over Harry, pulling his shirttails from the waistband of his jeans so that her hands could run over his skin. She hardly registered that they had moved from the living room; she came to only when the back of her knees hit the side of Harry's large feather mattress. She pulled away long enough to tug Harry's shirt up over his head, tossing it to the floor haphazardly. Ginny wrapped her arms around his waist, placing soft, butterfly kisses to his collarbone and shoulder, including one on the vivid bruise-like mark where Riddle's locket had tried to strangle him and the scar over his heart where the second Killing Curse had hit him. Harry shuddered, and he pulled the elastic from Ginny's hair, running his fingers through its long, shiny strands. He pulled her mouth up to his, kissing her deeply.

When she tried wriggling out of her tank top, Harry stopped, staring into her brown eyes. "So, what exactly happened today?"

She grumbled, trying to kiss his mouth again. "No talking."

He chuckled, finally pulling her kit off with deft fingers. "Fine," he said with a grin. "No talking."

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

"So, are you up for talking?" Harry asked smugly. His fingers combed through Ginny's hair languidly, and she sighed, hugging herself closer to him. Her head rested on his shoulder and though only his silk sheet covered them now, she was still deliciously warm. Harry prodded her side, to which she smacked his hand halfheartedly. His throaty chuckle brought her gaze up to his, and for a few minutes she lost herself in his emerald depths.

"It's nothing," she said at last. "Same old song, different tune, really."

"And what tune are the Harpies singing?" he asked her gently, stroking her spine. She arched into him like a kitten, snuggling into the musky, sandalwood scent she'd come to associate with him.

"Oh, you know," she said with a wry laugh. "That Gwenog only brought me on because it was good publicity, or that the only reason I got recruited straight out of school was because I was dating The Chosen One."

"They've been saying shite like that since the first Quidditch game of your seventh year," Harry soothed. "It's never bothered you like this."

"I know," she sighed, drumming her fingers on his bare chest in a steady tattoo. "But I think it just got to me. Gwenog threw me in to try as Seeker since Caitlin's been out with that concussion, and conditions were awful and when I missed that last one…"

"Gin, take a breath," Harry said with a small smile. "When was the last time that you played Seeker?"

"When I filled in for you my fifth year," she said.

"And out of how many tries did you miss the snitch?"

She glared up at him with baleful brown eyes, knowing exactly what he was doing. It was a habit he'd picked up from Hermione, and she hated when he used logic against her.

"How many?" he repeated with a knowing grin.

"I missed one out of seven," she mumbled, ducking her face into the crook of his shoulder. Harry laughed, shaking Ginny.

"You haven't played that position in three years, are thrown into a surprise practice, and out of seven releases you only miss the last one?" He kissed her hair since she refused to look at him. "Gin, I'd call that pretty brilliant."

"It's Ronnie," she mumbled.

"Ah," Harry sighed knowingly. "Veronica Twillmere. What's the twit done now?"

Ginny smiled, kissing his shoulder. She hated to complain, and when she'd been a Rookie she'd taken the normal criticisms in hand without so much as a grumble. But after a few months of grueling training she'd come to trust the women on her team, and they in turn trusted her. The snide remarks had ended almost immediately; she was very good friends with many of them outside of practices and games.

But Veronica Twillmere had just recently been traded to the Harpies as a Reserve Seeker, and she was not pleased. She'd been playing as a regular for the last six years, and being demoted to Reserves grated on her nerves. As a result, she grated on everyone else's, most especially Ginny and the rest of the younger players, like the regular Seeker, Caitlin Martin, who'd been hit by a bludger in the head during the Tutshill game three weeks ago; she'd been in the pros for only three years, and despite the common fact that the entire team knew Caitlin was a better Seeker than Veronica could ever be, Ronnie had been running her mouth since the trade.

Today had been a grueling practice; bad conditions, and they were all still exhausted from playing Appleby that weekend. But with the Falmouth game coming up, they all needed to be excelling at their jobs, especially since the Falcons were probably the dirtiest players around. But it had all come to a head when Gwenog had opted for Ginny to come in and practice as Seeker instead of Veronica, who'd been playing since Caitlin's injury.

_And nearly losing us the match,_ Ginny thought vehemently to herself. _Every time_.

Ginny and the other Chasers had been forced to work harder than ever before, just to keep them slightly above the margins so that if Veronica caught the snitch, they would still win. Matches that had once only gone an hour or two were now pushing four or five, and it was wearing on them all.

Hence the change in practice today. They all knew that Falmouth was going to be hard, and they had several Reserve Chasers who were more than up to par. It was the Seeker that they were all worried about. They needed someone who could come in, clean house, and get them out before too many sustained injuries. They needed Caitlin, but since she was out, the next fastest Seeker was Ginny. Her ears were still ringing from when Gwenog had announced the decision and Veronica had flipped her lid.

"Just pushed me to my edge, I guess," she sighed.

"I thought that was my job?" Harry said cheekily. She smacked his chest lightly.

"Git."

After a brief pause, Harry looked down at Ginny, smiling softly. "So…how fast were you?" Despite her irritation, and despite her preference for being a Chaser, she grinned in a gently haughty manner, still maintaining some modesty.

"Almost as good as Caitlin on a normal day," she said. Harry kissed her, ever the proud, supportive boyfriend.

"That's my girl."

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

"Mum, where did you put my bag?" Charlie gave up his endless search, plopping down onto the sofa in the living room. He needed to be back at the Reserve by five that evening, and his portkey to Wales was leaving in less than an hour. Somehow, his dragon-skinned duffle bag had mysteriously disappeared sometime between last night when he had packed it, and this afternoon.

"Did you say something, Charlie?" Molly asked, poking her head in through the window. She was out in the garden, de-gnoming it. Her eyes were too wide to be innocent, and Charlie sighed, too exhausted to argue with his mother. He loved her, he loved all his family, but he'd always been more comfortable around magical creatures than people.

"Where's my bag?" he asked again.

"I put it up in the attic," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her eyes suddenly narrowed in a classic Molly Weasley look. "Why? You aren't leaving yet, are you?"

Charlie ran a scarred hand through his hair, suddenly feeling like he was ten years old again. "They need help on the Reserve," he said sheepishly. "Johnson sent an owl saying they brought in a Norwegian Ridgeback who's severely injured, and she's expecting."

Molly tutted unhappily, bustling into the kitchen. "Well, if you must go, at least let me make you something to eat."

Knowing that it was a futile effort to argue with her, Charlie headed for the staircase, taking them two at a time. By the time he reached the fifth floor, he was beginning to wonder how Ron had never complained about living up here.

_Something of his own_, he thought sadly. Charlie pushed the door open into Ron's old bedroom, still covered in Chudley Cannons memorabilia. His black dragon-hide duffle was sitting on the bed, silently taunting him. He snatched it up, double checking to make sure his mum hadn't unpacked his things, and then hurried back down the steps.

"Here you are!" Molly called, sending him a sandwich wrapped for travel. Charlie placed it inside the bag, grabbing his jacket from the back of a rocking chair that contained some knitting. He kissed his mother's cheek on his way out the door, jogging to the family's Apparition point before travelling to the Ministry.

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

Harry wound his way through the rows of cubicles, sidestepping the notes that flitted from place to place, on their way to deliver in-Ministry messages. He waved to a few of his fellow Aurors who were also in to get through mountains of paperwork, but he wasn't deterred from his due course. Taking the right hallway, he soon found himself in front of a young witch's desk, who was studiously ignoring him and focusing on her secretarial duties. She wore her yellow hair back in a tight knot, and looked up at him above the rims of her half-moon glasses, her blue eyes narrowing.

"Mr. Potter," she said primly, a slight note of disapproval. "The Minister is not expecting you today. If you'd care to make an appointment…"

He looked down at the plaque in front of her. "Constance, is it?" he asked. She was definitely new. "Is Kingsley in?"

Her eyes widened, and she lost some of her properness. "Why, yes, but, I mean to say…Mr. Potter you are not expected!"

Harry ignored her, stepping around her desk and pushing through the shining redwood door. The bronze knocker huffed indignantly, beginning to announce Harry's arrival when he was cut off by Constance's outrage. Harry slammed the door shut.

Kingsley looked up from his large desk, putting down the copy of the _Prophet_ he'd been skimming. His dark eyes sparkled, and he rose from his seat in a swish of dark plum robes. He extended a firm hand to Harry, who shook it.

"Harry," he said in that slow, pleasant voice of his. "To what do I owe the surprise?"

"A witch stopped by the Burrow a few days ago," Harry said, taking the seat on the other side of Kingsley's desk. Harry watched his face with a careful eye. "From America. She seemed to claim quite a few things."

Kingsley looked at the young wizard, who'd smoothed his features into a mask of casual indifference. "I see you've met Aurora Black, then," he said slowly, watching as Harry's vibrant green eyes speared him to his seat.

"Funny," he said, his voice dangerously pleasant. "She called herself Aurora Cartwright."

"Her father's an American Auror," Kingsley said, going out on a limb to see what he'd do. "Good one too, from what I hear. He's the one who lead the strike team on Mulciber when we'd learned he'd fled to the Americas."

"So it's true then," Harry interrupted, intent on Kingsley. "She had no idea that Sirius was her biological father?"

Kingsley shook his head. "From what I understand, Aurora's mother was visiting some family in the French countryside when she ran into Sirius in the fresh produce markets. They had what seemed like a typical love affair for the time until Sirius was called back by Dumbledore; when her mother returned to her home in New Hampshire, she learned that she was pregnant. Voldemort had just reached his all-time high and international correspondence was practically non-existent. Not to mention that Sirius had gone into hiding with the rest of the Order. He never knew, and her parents never told her until they knew for certain what had happened."

Harry had no idea what he'd expected, but hearing Kingsley's story align perfectly with Aurora's left him feeling a bit deflated. _No, not deflated_, he self-corrected. _Relieved._ He inhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd found himself doing the action more and more, especially on a difficult case.

He looked back up. "What does she want?" he asked. Kingsley shrugged.

"From what I've been told, she spent her first day in Diagon Alley," he chuckled. He sobered quickly. "Harry, if you'd just found out that the man who'd raised you, the man you'd called 'Dad' for your whole life, wasn't your real father, what would you want?"

Harry bit back the retort that threatened to spill out; that he'd never known a father until he'd met and practically been adopted by Arthur. That every father figure he'd had in his life, save Arthur, was now dead. Instead, he laced his fingers together, looking down at the toe of his shoes.

"I'd want to get to know him," he said quietly. "As much as possible."

Kingsley nodded. "I'm going to allow her access to public archives," he warned. "So that she can research him. McGonagall has agreed to open the Hogwarts records to her, should she want to learn anything about him from his time as a Marauder." Harry smiled a bit. "I'll answer any questions she may have, but I didn't know Sirius as well as some people."

The hint wasn't lost on Harry. He ran a hand through his unruly hair, clearing his throat.

"I want to get to know her," he said at last. "I think that the Weasley's do as well. You're right; she should be able to learn as much about him as possible."

Kingsley nodded and stood in unison with Harry, who shook his hand firmly. "I'm glad you see it that way, Harry."

Harry smiled grimly, pausing on his way out the door. "It's what family's for," he said, so quietly that Kingsley almost didn't catch it. "And she is my god-sister."

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

Aurora sat at the small corner booth in the Leaky Cauldron, pouring over the files that Minister Shacklebolt had owled to her that morning. They contained several years' worth of school records from when Sirius Black had attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And she had to admit; her biological father had been quite the troublemaker while in attendance, along with who seemed to be some of his best friends, James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.

_James Potter_, she wondered. _Harry's father?_

It would make sense, especially since Sirius had been appointed Harry's godfather; they'd have been close friends during school.

Next were several society articles, including one which announced the wedding between James Potter and one Lily Evans, right out of their seventh year of schooling. The photograph also pictured Sirius dressed in wedding finery, standing as best man.

She moved on to what were several hand addressed letters that Kingsley had written to her about Sirius, stating that he, along with James and Peter Pettigrew, had become unregistered Animagi by their fifth year to assist their friend, Remus Lupin, who was a werewolf. Aurora read the letter with interest, hanging onto the details; that Sirius's other form happened to be a large black dog.

"I guess we have more similarities than I originally thought," she murmured to herself.

She was unhappy to find that every one of the Marauders were now gone; James and Lily had been murdered by Voldemort (_on my birthday_, she thought angrily) and Sirius had been arrested for the murders of twelve Muggles and his previous friend, Peter Pettigrew. The letter continued on, and Aurora could feel her eyes growing wider in shock at the injustice of it all.

_It was believed, for twelve years, that Sirius had betrayed his closest friends to Lord Voldemort; his family was known to support the ideas of blood-purity, and it was common fact that his younger brother, Regulus Black, had joined His followers as a Death Eater. It was only after Sirius's escape from Azkaban that all was revealed; that it had been Peter Pettigrew, since then thought to be dead, who had betrayed James and Lily, and in his attempts to flee from Sirius, murdered the Muggles and framed your father instead. Sirius had been innocent the entire time._

_The current Minister of Magic, however, did not know of this, and so Sirius went into hiding, allowing his ancestral home to act as headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, the main force opposing Voldemort. When Voldemort returned the following year, that same Minister refused to believe the claims, further blaming Sirius and blacklisting his name to all of wizarding kind, aside from those who knew the truth._

_Sirius was murdered by his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, in a battle in the Ministry the year after Voldemort's return to power. His name was only cleared after the Battle of Hogwarts, when Harry made for certain the truth regarding Sirius and all he had done for the cause was revealed in its entirety._

The letter continued on to briefly light on the case of Remus Lupin, who it seemed had been prejudiced against by most of the wizarding community. Aurora shook her head at these strange British witches and wizards; she wondered what they would do if they knew about the majority of magic folk back in America. Especially the Native American kids, who were able to turn into cougars, grizzlies, and bobcats by their tenth birthday.

When Aurora had finished reading, she stowed the letters back in the case file that had been sent to her. Carefully, she removed a collection of photographs that Kingsley had somehow gotten together; a better clipping of the Potter's wedding; a photo of Sirius and his friends upon their graduation; one of Sirius decorated almost as much as the Christmas tree behind him; one of a very large, rangy black dog, strangely resembling an Irish wolfhound that must've been his Animagus form. The last was a photo that had been in circulation when he'd escaped, and it chilled Aurora to the bone.

It was Sirius, after being imprisoned for quite a while. He was screaming, and although there was no sound, she winced as if she'd heard his pained cries. He was gaunt looking, his handsome looks ravaged by time and torture. His skin was paler than usual, and held an unhealthy, waxy sheen to it, especially around his sunken cheeks. His gray eyes were cloudy and feverish, and the hair that had clearly been one of his pride and joys when he was younger, thick and richly black, was long and matted through. The tattoos of Azkaban littered his skin, his hands, chest, throat and arms covered in the black ink, and Aurora was shocked to see a fat water drop spot onto the photo.

Aurora touched the corner of her eyes, wiping away the hot tears that she hadn't realized were spilling. She was startled when a green silk handkerchief appeared from across the table, and she half expected it to be Tom standing there. She was unprepared to see the brooding figure of her god-brother.

Harry prodded her to take the handkerchief, staring at her silently until she took it in hesitant fingers. It was smooth and fine, and she noticed the initials H.J.P. embroidered in gold. She carefully dabbed her eyes, not entirely comfortable in ruining the square of cloth.

"Thank you," she said, deftly sliding the photo back into the file. She couldn't look at it anymore.

"May I?" Harry asked gently, as if he were speaking to a newborn unicorn. He was motioning to the other side of the booth she was sitting in, and Aurora mutely nodded her assent. Harry slid in beside her, and simultaneously, another mug of butterbeer landed on the table.

Harry looked at her curiously, as if he hadn't quite decided what he thought about her. His emerald gaze was still intense, Aurora noticed, but not quite as hostile as it had been before. He extended his hand to her, and she grasped it with her own in a firm handshake.

"I find that I didn't properly introduce myself the other day," he said in that quiet voice of his. Aurora found herself slightly speechless. "I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

A sputtering laugh escaped from her throat, sounding a bit choked on emotion. "I know," she said, embarrassed when her voice squeaked. Harry smiled at her crookedly, running a hand through his untidy black hair.

"Kingsley said that he sent you a file about Sirius?" he asked, taking a deep swig of butterbeer. Aurora glimpsed the small badge pinned to the collar of his shirt, no bigger than a button, with his name and the word _Auror_ inscribed on it. It was nearly identical to the one her dad, Thomas, wore. Harry looked entirely too young to be a fully trained Auror, but he had been going toe to toe with the Darkest wizard of all time for most of his life, so she wasn't about to complain.

Aurora nodded, taking a deep breath to compose herself. "Yeah, he did. Some of his school records and a few photos that I assumed he had on hand. He wrote a letter as well, explaining the truth behind what happened to him after," she looked at him, unsure of how to continue. She ducked her eyes to her hands clasping her own chilled mug on the table. "After what happened to your folks."

Harry nodded, his stare gentling a bit. "He was a good man," he said a bit quietly. She had to strain to understand him over the noisy din of the pub. "A bit reckless and certainly a rebel, but Sirius was one of the best men I knew. I only wish I'd known him longer."

"How long did you know him?" she asked, just as quietly. Harry inhaled gruffly.

"My third year of school, he escaped, trying to find me and finally get to Wormtail." At her blank expression, he corrected himself. "Pettigrew. They called him Wormtail in school, on account of his Animagus form being a rat."

"Fitting," she snorted sarcastically. Harry's grin widened briefly.

"For that year, I thought him to be a traitor, knowing nothing more than the common story that everyone else seemed to gossip about. When I learned the truth, Pettigrew escaped and Sirius had to go into hiding." He took a pause, swirling the golden contents of his brew. "I knew him for two years after that, before he was killed. Hardly long enough to say that I knew him at all, but I knew him better than most. And I miss him, every day."

He looked at Aurora then, startled when he saw the pain and torment in Sirius's gray eyes. When he'd last seen his godfather, in the Forbidden Forest during the battle, that pain had been erased. He couldn't stand to see it back.

"You were crying, before," he said, glancing to the file she'd received. "Why?"

"Oh," Aurora said, surprised at his question. "Um, well, I was going through the photos that the Minister had sent me, and most of them resembled the one my parents gave me before I left." Wriggling in her seat, she removed a worn photograph from her pouch, handing it to Harry. It was a photo of Sirius that he'd never seen before; taken after leaving Hogwarts, and after his parents' wedding, it showed a very young, handsome Sirius somewhere in the countryside, winking and smiling at the camera. It was obviously personal, meant for someone else. "My mother's only photo of him. She refused to have the paper in the house for a while, and at the time I didn't understand why. That's when I came across this."

The photo she removed from the file was one Harry was very well-acquainted with; it had been on wanted fliers and leaflets and featured prominently in _the Daily Prophet_, back when Sirius had just escaped. He was emaciated and unhealthy, with a major dose of pain and regret to go with it. He looked back to Aurora, who was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, fighting back more tears. Harry felt a sudden urge to comfort her, but held back, unsure of what to do in this situation.

"He suffered, didn't he?" she asked thickly, turning those silver eyes on him. He was caught frozen, as if the Basilisk had turned its deadly gaze on him at last. "I don't know much about Azkaban, but I know that you don't get to that point without suffering, regardless of where it happens."

Harry didn't know what to say, but the steely glint in her stare was enough to make him answer. "Yes, he suffered," he said honestly. He didn't want to lie to her, but she didn't need to know every gruesome detail. "He survived because he knew that he was innocent."

Aurora nodded to herself, taking in the information.

They were both silent, and the sounds of the Leaky Cauldron absorbed the awkwardness of it. Harry broke that silence, remembering the reason he'd tracked her down to the Leaky Cauldron in the first place.

"I came to invite you to dinner," he said, taking her surprised look in stride. "With the Weasley's and me, tomorrow night. Molly," he said the woman's name with a fond smile, Aurora noticed. "Was stricken at the thought of you surviving on nothing but pub food while you're here."

"It's actually very good food," she said with a small smile. The feature was eerily similar to one of Sirius's rare, quieter grins and Harry almost forgot to breathe. "Are you sure? I don't want to intrude on your lives."

"She insisted," he said with a laugh. "We all want to get to know you, Aurora?" he said the name, unsure of whether he pronounced it correctly. At her nod, he continued. "As strange as this might be for you, it's strange for us as well, and the Weasley's have this policy of adopting everyone they meet."

"They sound a lot like my parents," she said longingly. Harry saw that she missed her family, and he did what he'd wanted to do the moment he saw her suffering. He took her slender hand in his, squeezing it gently with reassurance. She looked at him gratefully.

"Tomorrow evening, around five o' clock. You won't regret it."

He squeezed her hand once more, downed the rest of his butterbeer, and slid from the booth, feeling slightly relieved that she hadn't reacted with hostility.

"Harry? Your handkerchief," Aurora said, handing the neatly folded green silk back to him. He shook his head with a sad smile.

"Keep it," he insisted. "See you tomorrow?"

She nodded silently, too shocked to form any more words. Harry nodded once to himself before leaving the Leaky Cauldron, wondering to himself if he'd done the right thing.

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

Aurora was brushing her teeth when she heard Orion's alarm call from the bedroom. The quiet but insisting _tap, tap_ of a beak on the window told her that someone had sent her an owl.

_At this time of night?_ she wondered, rinsing out her mouth before hurrying to the window. She ran a gentle hand over Orion's feathers, soothing him. When she unlatched the window, she was surprised to see a familiar gray owl on the sill, exhausted and visibly drooping from flight.

"Chinook," she said in surprise, extending an arm to Edmund's owl. He hopped up onto her, talons gripping weakly. He was exhausted, and rightly so; he wasn't the youngest bird in the shed, and the flight from the Arctic Reserve to London was more of an Odyssey than anything else. Aurora untied the letter from his leg, depositing him on the perch beside Orion, who scuttled over to allow Chinook room.

Almost immediately he dove his beak into the water, drinking thirstily. Aurora stroked him gently, muttering to him softly. "Take it easy, yeah? You don't want to make yourself sick, do you?"

Chinook chirped at her, ruffling his feathers and almost immediately dropping into a deep sleep. He'd need at least a week to recover before heading back.

Sighing, Aurora took the letter and sat on her bed, curious when she saw her mentor's cramped scrawl. There was no way he'd gotten her letter yet; he must've sent this almost right after she'd left from New York, since she'd Flooed him a message telling him she'd be in London for a while. She broke the wax seal on the back, unfolding the letter.

_Aurora –_

_I know that whatever it is you are doing in London is extremely important, and I hope you are well and wish you luck in your endeavors. I hate to ask this of you, especially during a personal time such as this, but you're already in the UK, and even if you weren't conveniently located there, I would send you on this assignment anyway._

_The Welsh Dragon Reserve owled me a few days ago, requesting our assistance and expertise. It seems that they recently acquired a Norwegian Ridgeback from the Romanian Reserve, badly injured. And it seemed that she was much more temperamental than most. Upon closer examination it was revealed that she is expecting, and seeing as she wasn't the Queen of the colony, I can only assume that that is the reason behind her injuries._

_The Welsh Reserve isn't usually equipped to handle expectant mothers. Injuries, yes, but you and I both know that a pregnant dragon is more ferocious than any Bull or King. And she's a Ridgeback._

_Seeing you have a natural knack for this sort of situation, I immediately thought of you. Is there anyway that you could get to Wales and see what needs to be done? You would be dually compensated, of course, by both the Welsh Reserve and here. Think about it._

_Best Regards and Wishes,_

_Edmund Muller_

Aurora re-folded the letter, resistant to admitting, even to herself, that she wanted to go. The Welsh Reserve was one of the largest in the world, and housed the most varieties of dragons. Although the most well-known colonies were in Romania, it was Wales where most dragon workers wanted to be. The addition of the Ridgeback, a _female_ Ridgeback, which were among the most ferocious, piqued her curiosity to no end.

And Edmund was right, of course. She did have a knack for the pregnant Queens and Cows. It was her specialty, and although it was ten times more dangerous, for whatever reason, the females settled around her. Aurora's fingers traced the wood grain of her wand, feeling the power of the Icepick's heartstring pulsing beneath it. It had started with Her, this strange knack of Aurora's; ever since she'd stumbled upon the dying dragon-mother in that ice cave in the mountains, she was able to communicate with them on a level unknown to most wizards. It was a gift, one that Aurora was grateful for.

Her mind already decided, she moved to the vanity table, which also acted as a make-shift writing desk. Quickly penning a letter inquiring about the time of the earliest portkey to Wales, she sealed it, whistling to Orion. He landed on the table, eyes alert with a mission, and as she tied the letter to his leg, she spoke.

"Go to the Ministry, the Portkey division. Find someone who can answer. Hurry back."

Orion nibbled her fingers, taking flight in a whoosh of his large wings. Extinguishing the lights, Aurora left the window open, keeping one ear trained for her owl's return.

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

Something was nibbling her ear. Something sharp…and insistent…

"Ow!" Aurora cried sharply, jerking awake. Orion cooed at her, gazing at her through his golden eyes, holding out his leg in open invitation. The weakest rays of light were breaking through the night sky, hinting at the dawn timing. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she untied the response, growling when the tip of his wing smacked her in the face.

"Damn, smart-ass," she muttered darkly.

Aurora had to blink several times before the words were clear enough to make sense of, and when they did she shot out of bed, rushing into the bathroom and tapping the faucets so that hot water poured out of them. The next portkey to Wales was in under an hour.

Aurora washed hastily, casting a quick drying charm over herself and her hair, which she threw up into her signature ponytail, the dragon-hide band shimmering Welsh green against her black hair. She dressed in a pair of her work clothes; dragon-hide trousers, made from a Hungarian Horntail; a thick, canvas like blouse that billowed out in a pirate-like way; her work boots, made from the same Horntail; her thick hide gloves; and the jacket that her parents had given her upon receiving the job at the Arctic Reserve, made of a flattering cut and from the expensive hide of Chinese Fireball, glowing scarlet, gold, and orange.

She made sure her money pouch was securely attached to the utility belt that every dragon worker used, strapped on her wand holster for easy access, and packed an overnight bag with a few changes of clothes; she had no idea how long she'd be. Making sure the door was locked before going over to the owls, she stopped at Orion, who looked more than ready for another flight, and asked, "Can you meet me in Wales? At the Dragon Reserve?" He chirruped, as if the question was unnecessary, before taking flight. Chinook eyed her warily.

"I've left plenty of owl treats and the bowl is charmed to refill whenever it gets too low," she told him, scratching him where he liked it. "And I'll leave the window open in case you want to go hunting. Take as long as you need."

He cooed gratefully, dropping back into sleep. Grabbing her overnight bag she turned, Apparating to the visitor entrance of the Ministry. It turned out to be a red phone booth, in the middle of sleepy London. Looking once over her shoulder, Aurora climbed inside, dialing the number attached to the underside of the phone.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business_._"

"Aurora Cartwright, travelling by portkey."

A silver badge popped out from the side, and as soon as she'd pinned it to her collar, the floor beneath her began to drop, much like the elevator back home. After a few dark seconds, the doors opened, revealing the Ministry atrium, and a disgruntled looking wizard waiting to take her wand.

Tapping it, he read, "Ebony, dragon heartstring, rigid, twelve and a half inches. Good day."

Aurora smiled at his monotone voice, still drugged with sleep, and hurriedly made her way through the winding hallways of the Ministry, finding the correct pathway to the portkey division. She bought her passage from a witch, who was much too cheerful for this time of day, and was directed to the first lane, where several other early risers waited.

Aurora shifted on her feet, looking down at her watch impatiently, and was surprised to hear her name being called out.

"Miss Cartwright?"

Aurora turned, spying a tall, thin wizard, with balding red hair and light blue eyes, peering at her curiously. He was walking past the portkeys, but had stopped when he spied her standing there. Ignoring the warning look that the ticket witch shot him, he made his way over, a wide smile relaxing her nerves.

"Mr., um, Weasley, right?" she asked, stumbling over herself. He beamed, shaking her hand.

"Correct! Everyone calls me Arthur, though," he laughed. "And please, don't think that I'm being rude, but where are you going? I was under the impression that Harry had invited you to dinner tonight?"

Aurora slapped her hand to her forehead, groaning. She felt like a complete imbecile. "I am such an idiot," she said, to which Arthur gently disagreed. She looked at him apologetically. "I got an owl from my boss, he'd sent it almost as soon as I'd left, asking if I could help out in Wales. I totally forgot about agreeing to dinner."

Arthur placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder, quieting her worries. "Where do you work, that there's a separate division in Wales?"

"I work on the Arctic Dragon Reserve, in Greenland," she said. "The Welsh Reserve requested some outside help."

"You'll probably run into my son, Charlie, then," Arthur said jovially. "Just got transferred from the Romanian Reserve last year."

Aurora recalled the man she'd seen at the Burrow, and knew she'd been correct in assuming he worked with dragons. You didn't get scars and burns like that without working with the creatures.

"Don't you worry, Miss Cartwright," Arthur said. "You need to do what you need to do. I'll explain to Molly. But, just so you're warned," he said, his serious voice slightly unnerving her. "She'll invite you to Sunday lunch, and that's bigger than any family dinner."

Aurora grinned, and Arthur smiled at her, patting her shoulder when her portkey was called. "Off you go then."

Aurora stepped up alongside the four other wizards, taking hold of waste bin lid. The countdown started, and the last thing that she saw was Arthur Weasley, waving enthusiastically to her.

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

Charlie winced as the Healer applied the salve to the new burn on his arm, and she stifled a laugh. Isa had been at the Welsh Reserve as a Healer for the last forty years, and reminded Charlie distinctly of his mother, a natural care-taker and worrier. And she always had a sharp answer for one of her keepers when they didn't heed her advice.

The burn dulled in pain, and once it had totally numbed, Isa wrapped a tight bandage around it, sealing it with a tap of her wand. "I take it this came from the Ridgeback, then?" she asked. Charlie flexed his hand, testing the tendons for flexibility and control. Satisfied that he could move without any difficulties he stood up, reaching for his discarded shirt on the chair.

"Yeah," he confirmed, rolling his shoulders back. "She may be down, but she's got more kick than any dragon I've seen before. Ellis said something about bringing in a consultant from one of the other Reserves, only he didn't say from where."

"Oh, well that would explain the girl from the Arctic, then," Isa said, packaging her supplies on the table. Charlie paused, looking at her in surprise.

"Arctic? What do you mean?" he asked. Isa gave him a patient smile.

"Exactly what I said, Charles," she said, exaggerating his first name. "There's a witch from the Arctic Reserve that's just arrived, and if what you say is true, she must be the consultant."

Charlie blinked in surprise, looking out the window of the healing ward. The rolling green mountains of the Welsh Reserve was serene and beautiful as ever, the skies an impossibly clear blue, cloudless.

The Arctic Reserve was one of the most exclusive in the world, highly competitive and selective. They only chose keepers and healers who had a proclivity for their work, which tended to scale the most rare of magical creatures. Not just dragons, although most of their focus was concentrated there, but on other creatures as well. They were usually very skilled and very talented.

And most certainly never witches.

Charlie didn't believe that wizards were inherently better than witches, but it was quite unusual for them to take interest as dragon workers and keepers; they usually flocked to the healing divisions. And last he'd heard, the Arctic Reserve was almost entirely made up of wizards, keepers, workers and healers.

Charlie stepped out of the small building that acted as one of the several minor infirmaries around the sanctuary in his trousers and boots, still clutching his work shirts in his hands. His eyes roamed the grassy knolls, landing on the welcome building that housed the Director's office and quarters. There, standing alongside Ellis Johnson, was the witch Isa had told him about. Charlie felt his eyes widen in surprise.

She was tall, but not overly so, elegant and regal in stature. Charlie himself wasn't as tall as Bill and Ron, but he was still a few inches taller than her, so that was something. Her back was to him, so all he could really discern about her was her glossy, raven black hair, tightly pulled into a tail whose ends hung somewhere around her slender waist. Charlie's eyebrows rose into his hairline; she was definitely high up. She wore the top of the line dragon-hide work wear; dark trousers and boots, thick hide gloves and an impressive jacket of what looked like Chinese Fireball, its brilliant flame-hued colors catching the sunlight. What was more, it didn't look brand new. Her clothing was of fine quality, but it was broken in considerably, well-worn and used.

The witch was talking animatedly to Ellis, and after a few moments of conversation, they began walking in the direction of the enclosure where the Ridgeback was being kept under surveillance. Spotting Charlie, Ellis waved him over, speaking to the witch. She looked in Charlie's direction and he felt the wind get knocked out of him.

It was the witch who'd showed up at the Burrow a few days ago, claiming to be Sirius Black's daughter.

**Thoughts? Please, please review!**


	4. Dragon's Den

**Voila! Another chapter!**

**Chapter Four**

Aurora had to mentally slap herself to make her brain start working again, and by the time that that had happened, several minutes had already passed. Her tongue felt like cotton in her mouth, and if she hadn't known any better, she'd have though that she was suffering from the effects of a nasty hangover.

She couldn't hear the conversation that the Director of the Reserve, a kind, if not hair brained, wizard named Ellis Johnson, was continuing; her eyes were solely focused on the wizard that was approaching them with a smooth, loping gate, his boots crunching over the crisp grass with every step. And suddenly, she felt like she was fifteen years old again, stuck in school, with a desperate crush on Lisbeth's older brother, Lucas.

He was taller than her, but not overly so, her eyes level with his square chin. He was powerfully built, covered in thick muscle rather than wiry tendons and ligaments. He was naturally pale, but was actually quite tan from spending so much time in the mountains. He was shirtless, and from what she could see, had just been in the infirmary, getting patched up. His arms were laced with scars and burns, a fresh bandage around one forearm, and some even trickled over his well-defined chest and abdominals. Aurora gulped, suddenly wishing for a glass of water.

She saw then that his arms weren't just covered in scars; they also seemed to be riddled in Muggle tattoos. A line of barbed wire wrapped around his left bicep and down to his elbow, words written every so often along the way. His right shoulder looked like it was being consumed in flames, but only the tips could be seen. Aurora had the distinct impression that whatever tattoo it was, it continued onto his back.

The wizard pulled on his shirts, a white tank top and green flannel, which he consequently pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, and shook Ellis's hand with a nod of his flame colored head. His hair was thick and wavy, but cut short, so that it only just fell into his ice blue eyes. Aurora felt as if an icy _Aguamenti_ had been dumped on her, and she felt herself jerk into awareness.

"Miss Cartwright, this is Charles Weasley, recently transferred from the Romanian Reserve," Ellis introduced.

"Charlie," he corrected automatically, extending a hand out to her. "Aurora, right?"

Thankfully, Aurora found her voice, and it was calm and steady, ever the perfect representation of Edmund's training her to be a liaison for the Reserve. "Yes. I've been asked by my Director to come in as a consultant concerning a pregnant Ridgeback?"

Charlie nodded, cutting through the pleasantries and focusing on the task at hand. "She's been badly injured by the colony, not being the Queen and all," he said. They all began walking in the direction of the enclosure, Aurora in between the two Brits. "Separated wing ligaments, a tear down the central membrane, several sections of her tail have been bitten off, and the fact that she can still stand on her own is a bloody miracle."

"How far along is she?" she asked, becoming more comfortable in the routine of her work. If she could focus on the Ridgeback, she'd be alright.

"Second quad," Ellis said, rubbing his jaw in concern. A dragon had a total gestation period of a year; six months in development and six in incubation. If she was in her second quad, then the eggs would be delivered any day now; Aurora knew that even if she was strong enough to have the eggs, she might not be healthy enough to last six months incubating them. A flash of the Icepick mother replayed through Aurora's mind, and she struggled to push it behind her.

"Nobody's been able to get near her," Charlie said suddenly, piercing her with those breathtaking eyes. "What makes you certain that you'll be able to?"

"Charlie," Ellis warned dangerously. "Aurora came highly recommended from the Arctic Reserve. We were lucky that she was in London already."

"It's fine, Mr. Johnson, I'm used to this kind of reaction," Aurora said gently. She looked to Charlie with an arched eyebrow, a look that she'd perfected over the years that made weaker men wince. "I seem to have a, proclivity," she said, looking for the right word, "for dragons, especially expectant mothers. And I've been in this situation before, although circumstances were different."

"How so?" Ellis said, cutting off whatever Charlie had been about to say. They kept walking in a determined pace, not rushing to the enclosure but not dawdling either.

"Arctic Icepicks don't live in Colonies," Aurora began. "There's not enough of them for only the King and Queen to be the breeding pair, and so over the years, they've developed a natural independence. They usually live in mated pairs, and smaller families once the hatchlings arrive. But once the dragonets are around a year old, they leave the nest. They mature much more quickly than other species."

"Interesting," the director said. "I've always wanted to study the Ice dragons. How different are they from other species?"

Aurora noticed that Charlie was listening closely as well; not much was known about Icepicks, for the exact purpose of keeping them safe. They were most certainly the most valuable of dragon kind.

"Apart from how they survive, both the male and female in a pair will care for the eggs, at least, once they are in the third and fourth quads. They alternate between incubation and hunting. The main difference is that, where as other dragon species rely on extreme heat for incubation, the Icepicks rely on extreme cold. Getting near an Icepick's den is noticeable, even in the Arctic; the temperature drops about fifty degrees, no matter what the outside temp is." She shivered, remembering the feeling of ice dripping down her spine as she'd entered the enclosed den.

"They don't breathe flame," she told them. "Ice, snow, sleet, sometimes hail if they're in the mood. Males tend to range anywhere from silver to ice blue in color, the females are almost always snow white. They're about the size of a Horntail, give or take a few feet, and their hides, talons, fangs and bones, are very valuable."

"Are they made out of silver?" Ellis asked. "I'd once heard from a wizard in Stockholm that they're made of pure silver."

Aurora shook her head. "No, that's myth," she said. With a small smile she corrected him. "The horns, claws, talons, fangs…they're made of diamond. An Icepick's eggs are also unique; they're still oval in shape, like any other dragon egg, but it looks as if they'd been cut from crystal. And as they get closer and closer to hatching, the embryos are able to be seen, as if someone had taken a flashlight behind it. It's remarkable."

Ellis's eyes widened, and Charlie kept his mouth shut, thinking.

"They're also the most intelligent of creatures," she said, earning an incredulous snort from her right. "It's true. They've figured out a way to communicate in a similar way to the way we communicate with foreign wizards. It's what I was studying when that ice storm hit."

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked, holding one of several oncoming gates open for herself and Ellis to pass through. Aurora stepped under the overhang, blinking against the temporary darkness.

"Ever been to the desert?" she asked. He nodded. "Seen a dust storm?" Again, he nodded. "Imagine it with snow and ice."

Charlie shuddered, perfectly recalling the speeding wall of hot air and sand that had engulfed their hotel that one time in Egypt. He couldn't imagine it come at him as a battering ram of snow and ice.

"I was out on the Reserve, and it was coming onto our spot in mere seconds. Under that kind of panic, the most I could do was Apparate to the nearest cave I'd spotted, and wait it out. But once I was in that cave, I felt as if I'd been living in the Caribbean for the past few weeks, it was _that_ cold. I'd landed right in the middle of Icepick den."

Ellis looked at her in shock, but Aurora was more focused on Charlie. She continued.

"It was the female we'd been trying to locate for about a week or so," she said, remembering. "A group of poachers from Siberia had landed on the Reserve, hoping to bring in some priceless trade. They were experts, and were able to get one of the older males on the Reserve who'd been hunting. His mate was in her fourth quad."

Aurora's voice had dropped into a bitter anger, Charlie noticed with insight. She might have been young, but she was passionate about her work, and she was just as enraged at the illegal activities as he found himself to be.

"We tried to find her, but she was deep into hiding. When we caught the poachers, they mentioned having found her." Charlie looked at her, seeing her slender hands curled into tight fists. "My director, Edmund, had to put a full body-bind on me so that I wouldn't kill them. After some very, _persuasive_, veritaserum, they admitted to having only injured her. Seems she came out searching for her mate, and found them butchering him, and let loose. She froze three out of the five before they attacked her."

Charlie smiled grimly at the proud tone to her voice.

"See, the thing is, the Icepick's, having lived in such a barren environment for so long, had to develop a way of communication between them in case hunting took them hundreds of miles apart. When a pair becomes mated, it's like their minds become linked, allowing them constant communication despite the distance. The only way that that connection is severed is if one mate dies."

"So she knew it the minute her mate had been killed," Ellis said in an awed voice. "Fascinating." Aurora nodded her agreement.

"When I found myself in that den, I heard her labored breathing and knew she wasn't doing well. I went deeper into the cave, until I found her. She'd successfully incubated seven eggs."

Charlie felt himself feel a newer appreciation for the witch walking alongside him. Literally walking into the dragon's den required some serious initiative.

"I can't explain this next part," Aurora said quietly. "I don't really understand it myself. All I know is that the moment her eyes locked onto mine, it was like I'd made some untold discovery. In those few seconds, I saw her entire life, the hatchlings she'd had, the Keepers she'd noticed, everything. She was old, even for her kind, and to see the evolution of time was miraculous. Somehow, during that time, she'd made a connection with me." Aurora took a shaky breath. "With my mind, similar to the mate bond that she'd had for so long. Through that connection she gave me two responsibilities. To take care of her brood until they reached of age, and to let her remains fade naturally."

Aurora roughly shoved the tears from her eyes, blinking to steady herself. "I promised her to do so, and to show her gratitude she gave me this." Aurora pulled out her ebony wand, the black wood polished to an expert shine. She could feel the heartstring pulsing beneath it. "Her very own heartstring. It looked like an icicle, but it wouldn't melt, no matter the heat. The first chance I got I had a new wand crafted specifically to my strengths and to those of the heartstring."

They had reached the outer gate of the Ridgeback's enclosure, and as Ellis quickly permissioned them through, she finished her tale of awe. "That happened literally in my first month at the Reserve, fresh from school. And somehow, the connection that She had given me remained. I brought the seven eggs with me back to the Reserve to the hatchery. We'll sometimes stumble upon an egg that had been separated by accident, but never had we attained an entire litter. And usually, the hatchlings are distrustful of the Handlers from the beginning; it's like they know we're not their mother or father. But when the litter hatched, every single dragonet clambered over to me, sitting on my lap or shoulder like kittens. And I found that I had a connection with each of them."

Charlie stared at her, finding himself completely speechless. Ellis had a similar expression on his face; whatever he'd expected from his request for a consultant, it most certainly hadn't been a witch Touched by dragons.

"They are all full grown and living on the Reserve," Aurora said quietly. "And I still have a connection with all of them. Aksel, Alvilda, Ansgar, Birger, Britta, Cille, and Else."

"You named them?" Ellis asked. She shook her head.

"They knew their own names when they were hatched. They told me."

"Are you saying that you can speak to dragons? Like a dragon form of Parseltongue?"

"Only with them," Aurora said, her voice so quiet that they could hardly hear her. "I think it's because of the connection their mother made with me. It was so I could help keep my promise, nothing more. However, since then, I am able to communicate with most dragons, Icepick or not. Not speak," she emphasized sharply, narrowing her eyes at Ellis. "But still communicate. They see me as trustworthy, or so we believe. It's why Edmund recommended me to consult on the Ridgeback; I'll be able to get near her."

"What was her name?" Charlie asked. "The dragon who connected with you?"

"Freja, meaning lady in Danish. Her mate was Gudbrand, meaning God's sword."

The gate opened, and without further questioning, Aurora stepped through, casting several silent protective charms around herself that were standard issue when entering an enclosure. Her eyes wandered the steep cliffs of the mountains, the deep valleys between the soft grassy hills, and finally landed on the face of an exposed granite shelf, expertly hidden while providing an excellent vantage point for spotting intruders. Picturing the spot right next to the opening, Aurora Apparated, feeling the wind get knocked out of her as she suddenly reappeared, fifty feet above where she'd been before.

She closed her eyes, placing her left palm flat against the granite stone, embracing the searing pain of white hot-as-iron heat. She could hear the Ridgeback deep inside the cave, anger, pain and fear rippling into the earth. It was a handy trick that Edmund had first taught her upon her arrival, to help her prepare best for whatever was inside.

Aurora's eyes flashed open, her hand, now dully throbbing, hanging by her side. Her right hand gripped her wand loosely as she took several deep breaths.

Her story had been true; every single thing that she'd told Charlie and Ellis had happened. She'd only lied on one thing, and that was on the advice of Edmund, advice that she knew was sound. Just remembering the way Ellis's eyes had widened at her declaration that she could speak with her seven dragons proved that, no matter how well-meaning a person was, some things were better left untold.

Specifically that she could speak Draconic, or the language of Dragons.

Knowing that if she was going to get close to the Ridgeback the dragon would need to make the first move, Aurora pointed her wand at a loose rock, about the size of a bludger, and tossed into the cave. The Ridgeback's ferocious growls echoed around her.

_Who is this?_ she growled, the vowels low and guttural. This was Aurora's first time speaking with a different species, and found that the Ridgeback had an accent, and sounded Romanian. An odd observation, but one that Aurora would keep in mind.

Aurora took another breath, feeling her nerves surface.

_**My name is Aurora**_, she said, her voice sounding strange in the tongue, yet natural as well. _**I'm a Dragon Keeper from the Arctic Reserve**_.

The Ridgeback was silent, but Aurora could still hear her deep breathing. Every so often, there was a strange hitch, as if she couldn't get enough air to her lungs.

_No human can speak our language_, she said, a tone of fear and mistrust quavering in the dragon's voice. _Not a single witch or wizard, not now anyway. How can you?_

_**An Icepick gifted me,**_Aurora said gently, adopting the soothing voice she used when crooning to the hatchlings. _**She was dying and had a litter that needed care. She gifted me with the language of the Draconae to help communicate and protect them.**_

After a long moment's silence, the dragon sighed deeply in resignation. _A mother will do anything to protect her children_, she said at last. Aurora waited, spying Charlie and Ellis down below her, waiting to see if she'd need help. _Why are you here, Aurora of the Blessed?_

Aurora paused, thinking on the title. Funnily enough, the other dragons that she'd communicated with, apart from the dragonets, all referred to her as the same. 'Aurora of the Blessed'. She'd thought it was an Icepick courtesy, but apparently, it was Draconic custom.

_**I understand that you are suffering, Dracona**_, she said, using the dragons' own titles for female. It was the equivalent of saying Miss or Madam to a witch. _**The Keepers of the Welsh Reserve sent for me to see if I could help.**_

_I assume that you refer to the humans who decided it wise to wave their sparking wands at me?_ She said it wryly, as if she found humor from the whole ordeal. Aurora found herself chuckling.

_**They are male**_, she reasoned, pulling on the Ridgeback's female sensibilities. _**What do you expect?**_

The dragon laughed, and the cave rumbled, shaking as if an earthquake had struck. Aurora struggled for balance. When she'd quieted down, Aurora felt, rather than saw, the dragon settle down.

_You may come in, Aurora of the Blessed. I won't bite._

The joke was not lost on Aurora, who knew that a Norwegian Ridgeback's fangs held poisonous venom inside. With a smile Aurora nodded, stepping into the darkened cave, murmuring _Lumos_ under her breath.

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

"A witch who can speak to dragons," Ellis said with wonder. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"She can only speak to the dragonets she raised," Charlie argued, looking up the granite cliff. "But it is remarkable, all the same."

"Did you know, that in Medieval times, most Dragon Keepers could speak the tongue of the Dragons?" Ellis said, thinking on an old history lesson. Charlie crossed his arms over his chest, watching the small figure of Aurora as she stood outside the cave. Ellis was so focused on his own musings that he didn't pay attention to the amount of time she spent up there. "It was actually a prerequisite. Highly prestigious. I believe that someone wrote a text about the Dragon language and behavior, but it hasn't been seen in centuries. Could you imagine?"

_No_, Charlie thought. He couldn't. He'd be the first to admit that he'd entertained the thought of speaking with dragons, and of course when he was working with them he always spoke to them, but actually holding a conversation with the creatures had been a fantasy, nothing more than a child's dream.

Charlie tuned out his Director's monologue, watching closely as Aurora spent first two, then four, then several minutes out on that shelf. He quirked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. If he hadn't known any better, he'd have sworn she was speaking to the Ridgeback. He dismissed the thought, thinking back to the steely reply she'd given Ellis after his excited inquiry.

But what if she had lied? Not the story, the details had been too personal for her to have lied about how she'd come by the talent, but about her communication with other dragons. Charlie would bet his next ten years' worth of paychecks on the fact that she _could_ speak to dragons, like a form of Parseltongue, as Ellis had guessed.

He watched as Aurora finally slipped into the cave, right after having felt the earth shake beneath his feet in slight tremor. He breathed slowly, waiting for any signal that she'd need help.

Nothing.

Ten minutes passed. A half hour. Charlie's feet were beginning to ache and when he looked at his watch, he blinked. _Two hours?_ He hoped, for Aurora's sake, that she could speak with dragons, because otherwise, there was no way in Merlin's Beard that she'd survived two hours in a Ridgeback's den, alone.

No sooner than he'd thought it, a small figure exited the cave, wearily stumbling. With a soft _crack!_ she Disapparated, appearing in front of them a second or two later. She swayed on her feet, exhaustion dragging her down. Charlie caught her before she completely collapsed to the ground.

"Miss Cartwright, are you well?" Ellis asked, catching hold of her other side. Her weight felt slight to Charlie, as if she hadn't eaten anything in a while. She nodded, the movement costing her an absurd amount of energy.

"Are you injured?" Charlie asked, to which she vehemently denied, shaking her head vigorously.

"I'm just worn out," she said breathlessly. "I did as much healing as I could. She'll last the next few nights, but it's worse than what you thought, or she's worsened. You'll need a team of Healers out here first thing tomorrow."

"Will she let us near her, do you think?" Ellis asked, quickly flipping into Director mode. His voice was calm and serious, intent on Aurora.

She nodded weakly. "So long as I'm with you, she won't retaliate in any way, shape or form."

Charlie saw that Ellis wanted more details, but he also knew that Aurora was fading quickly. With a low grunt of effort he swung her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest snugly.

"Right, you'll fetch Isa, won't you?" he asked his Director, who simply nodded. Charlie turned on the spot, Apparating back to the guest house where he assumed she'd be staying. A large, snowy owl greeted him, clapping his beak together.

"Hush, now," Charlie told the bird, moving efficiently to the bed. "I'm only helping." He gently laid her on top of the mattress, placing her wand on the nightstand beside her. A quick rasping on the door came from behind, and he soon heard the steady movements of the Healer setting up shop.

"Any burns? Cuts, bruises, injuries?" she asked in that professional manner of hers. Charlie shook his head.

"Just depleted herself, trying to save that Ridgeback," he said. Isa grinned up at him with a knowing look.

"Much like someone else I know."

Charlie rolled his eyes, standing aside so she could fashion together the herbs needed to revive Aurora for a few moments. Her gray eyes flashed open, confused at her surroundings.

"Drink this, dear," Isa said, holding a blue vial to Aurora's lips. "It'll help you recover while you sleep."

Aurora dutifully drank, screwing up her face at the taste. The Healer held another small vial up, this one pink. "And this'll be for the headache and muscle soreness," she explained, chuckling at the witch's expression as she drank the potion. Charlie knew that it had a foul aftertaste. When Isa held up one last potion, Aurora shook her head.

"This will help rid your mouth of the taste," Isa replied. Aurora stared doubtfully at the frothing, light green mixture, but downed it like the rest, visibly relieved at the mint flavor that quickly washed out the other awful combinations. She fell back to sleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

"I don't want her woken up before noon tomorrow," Isa said sternly. "Understood?"

Charlie nodded, following her out of the small cottage. "I'll pass it along to Ellis."

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

When Aurora woke up, her eyes watered at the sudden burst of sunshine flooding the guest cottage she'd been put in upon arriving. Her stomach growled something fierce, and she realized with chagrin that she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast the day before. She sat up, noticing for the first time that she was still dressed in her work clothes from the day before.

She quickly peeled off her clothing, jumping into the shower stall for a quick, cool wash. Already she felt tons better than when she'd woken up, and after brushing her teeth and drying off, she felt ready to tackle the world. As soon as she found some food.

Orion greeted her happily from his perch, cooing as she petted him. Reaching for her duffle she changed into another pair of dragon hide breeches, a less industrial blouse and her boots. It was warm enough that she didn't need her jacket, and after her time with the Ridgeback yesterday, she didn't need it's offered protection. Instead, she strapped on her utility belt, slid her wand into its holster, and tied her hair back into a tight plait, tying off the end with a piece of ribbon she'd found in her pocket.

She paused, looking around her room, and wondering exactly how she'd gotten here. She remembered tending to the dragon and then Apparating down to where Ellis had been waiting, quickly giving her report. The last thing she remembered was a kind Healer, handing her potions to drink. And in the background, lurking with his arms crossed in a decidedly surly manner, had been Charlie.

_Did he bring me back?_ she wondered. Aurora's stomach growled again, and she shrugged it off. Exiting the cottage with a light spring to her step, she made her way across the grounds in the direction of the mess hall, where several witches and wizards had exited with trays of food.

She settled herself with some oatmeal and sausage and a cup of strong coffee, wanting to take it easy despite her ravaging hunger. She was finishing the last dreg of caffeine when Ellis came up to her, a pleasant smile on his face.

"Feeling better, I see?" he noted. Aurora smiled.

"Your Healer can work miracles," she replied. He nodded.

"That's our Isa," he said fondly, as if he were speaking about his mother. Motioning to her empty tray, he continued. "If you're feeling up for it, we're ready to take a team with us to the Ridgeback. We wanted to wait until you'd woke before wandering in."

Aurora checked her watch, staggering to her feet. It was nearly one o' clock now. She nodded, following the Director out of the hall. A group of five wizards stood outside, obviously waiting.

"Miss Cartwright, this is William Carver, Adrian Rene, Grant Peterson, Cameron Bevy, and Lincoln Conway. Charlie is with another group of Healers waiting for us at the enclosure. Men," Ellis said, turning to the wizards with a superior air of authority. "Your orders come from Aurora, and Aurora only. Understand?"

In unison they nodded, and quickly they made their way to the enclosure, where another group of seven waited for them. One was Charlie Weasley, dressed all in black, just a tank top, trousers and boots. The bandage was gone, revealing a fresh burn licking its way up his forearm. She looked to Ellis for introductions.

"Right," she said, clapping her hands together. "I'm separating you all based on specialties. Those trained with surface wounds, tears, bites and the like, off to my left." Four wizards assembled, including the burly wizard Ellis had introduced as Grant. "You'll be focusing on healing the wounds she received from the others of the colony. Her right wing is torn, and there are several bites that are festering on her tail and haunches." They nodded, and Aurora turned back to the group. "Those who deal in potions and salves, to my right."

This group was considerably larger, with six wizards grouping together. "Once you see her, you'll be better able to decide what she needs. Pastes, poultices, salves, balms, anything and everything. Keep in mind, she's carrying, so anything to increase strength and the healing process would be best. If there's a potion that you think would be beneficial, come to me. I'll get her to drink it."

They nodded, and so she turned to the last group, consisting of the last three, four counting herself. Both Ellis and Charlie were in it, as was the Caribbean wizard Adrian, who had a penchant for lightening a situation with humor. "You'll be monitoring her progress. She's due any day now, so we need to make sure she's right enough to care for them. If you feel as if your talents are better suited for the other tasks, you can switch now." When nobody volunteered she nodded, beginning to lead the large group to the base of the cliff.

"I'm going in first, to make sure she doesn't blow you to bits." Several deep chuckles answered her and Aurora smiled to herself. "When I give the signal, Apparate up there in groups of two; it's a narrow ledge, so watch your step. Keep quiet and try not to wave your wands at her immediately. I need a volunteer to go up with me first."

Several of the wizards began to step forward, but it was Charlie who gripped her arm in his hand, Apparating them to the top without a moment's hesitation. Once they were outside the cave, Aurora looked to him, and he regarded her coolly, all business. "On your signal," he affirmed. She nodded, and taking slow, sure steps, she entered the cave.

_Aurora, is that you?_ She was pleased to note that the Ridgeback's voice was stronger than it had been yesterday, much more clear.

_**Yes, it's me, Dracona**__, _she said, lighting the cave. _**May I come in?**_

The dragon huffed out a warm breath, filling the cave with heat. _Yes, come in, come in._

Aurora stepped deeper into the den, and with a long sweeping arc of her wand, lit it so that the entirety was illuminated. Curled up in the back, her long, arching neck extended in a regal manner, the she-dragon had acquired some of her previous, natural color, the healing Aurora had done yesterday working beneficially; her hide had begun to develop the warmth and earthiness of a healthy Norwegian Ridgeback.

_**How are you?**_ Aurora asked, getting ever closer. The heat coming from the dragon was like a hot day in July, but she knew it was also a sign of health, so she didn't complain. The dragon tilted her head down, in a courteous bow Aurora recognized.

_Better, I must admit. Not one hundred percent, but much better_.

_**I brought with me several more healers to help you,**_ Aurora said, taking another look at the wounds on the Ridgeback's hide. _**They're waiting for your permission.**_

Again she bent her head in assent. _You will stay?_ she asked, a note of worry creeping into her voice. Aurora took a seat on a large granite boulder, allowing the dragon access to her. Her hand hesitantly stroked the scales along the underside of her neck, marveling at the heat and texture.

_**Yes, I will stay.**_

When the dragon rumbled her assent, Aurora pointed her wand at the cave's opening, sending out a series of purple and blue sparks. Almost immediately, the Keepers began to enter, remaining quiet and professional. Aurora was surprised when the dragon dropped her large, heavy head onto her lap, closing her eyes in a display of complete ease and relaxation. As if it were instinct Aurora stroked the dragon's visage, like she did Orion or Jinx. The dragon's contented growls softened into what Aurora could only compare to purring.

Charlie felt himself frozen to the spot he stood on, inside the Ridgeback's den but not too close. His eyes were glued on the impossible and yet fantastic image in front of him; was the dragon actually letting Aurora pet her?

"Bloody hell," came an accented voice from behind him. As soon as they'd seen Aurora's colorful sparks they'd begun to head inside. Now, thirteen wizards stood grouped together, gaping wide eyed and open mouthed at the spectacle greeting them. Charlie looked behind him, nodding at Adrian's words of surprise. He couldn't have said it better.

Aurora looked up, her gray eyes arching in deliberation, as if daring them to say anything about the cozy picture she presented. The dragon acted like a bloody lapdog for Merlin's sake!

"She's calm now," she said, her voice low and gruff, as if she'd just gargled a bunch of nails. She cleared her throat, color rushing to her cheeks. "I suggest you get to work." Her voice returned to its usual pitch.

Thankfully, nobody remained star-struck and they hurried about their business, dividing into the groups Aurora had assigned. Charlie, Ellis and Adrian carefully made their way over to Aurora, who was murmuring soothing nonsense to the dragon, whose deep rumblings signaled peace. Aurora looked to them, and although she spoke to them all, he couldn't help but feel as if her eyes were trained on him singularly.

_Wishful thinking, Weasley_, he thought, shaking himself into focus.

"I'd do a routine check-up," she said thoughtfully, her hand continuing to stroke the creature absentmindedly. "I would've done one yesterday, but she was worse off than today by a long shot."

Charlie nodded, noticing the paleness to the dragon's hide. She still had a ways to go. Without more prodding, Charlie and his small team began casting their wands gently, falling into the steady routine of the job. One by one the others would come over, casting their healing spells and charms over the dragon, who barely stirred as they worked. It was a remarkable change from the ferocious, fire-breathing beast he'd encountered early yesterday morning. And all due to this fresh-faced witch.

The major damage had been done to her wing, and when he finished with the check-up, consulting with Adrian and Ellis to confirm that the eggs, all five of them, were still healthy, they disembarked to help the other two teams. Charlie jumped in with Grant and William, assisting in the painstaking work of knitting the complex membranes back together.

Charlie's eyes continually wandered back to Aurora, who hadn't moved from her position once. Several times she was consulted, and he watched in fascination as she'd lean close to the dragon, whose large, topaz colored eyes would open and focus on her with an unnerving intensity, and murmur gently, before taking whatever potion or concoction was handed to her and pouring it down the Ridgeback's throat, careful of the poisonous fangs.

When the wing was sufficiently repaired, they allowed another small team to apply a healing poultice to their work, ensuring that it would heal. Charlie moved on to helping clear out the poison from the bite wounds on the Ridgeback's spiked tail, which would always be slightly off in shape in the future. Not once did the dragon flinch or twitch, not so much as a warning growl. Never had the Keepers been able to work so quickly and calmly, and he watched as one by one, the wizards glance towards Aurora, their eyes wide and appreciative.

_In more than one way_, Charlie thought, catching Lincoln's quick once over and grin. A dark mood filled Charlie, one he didn't really understand and soon cast off as exhaustion and hunger.

Nearly two and a half hours after they'd begun, the group assembled near the mouth of the den, waiting to be dismissed. They'd done all that they could for today, and their prognosis seemed positive, especially since they'd been able to get the salves and potions into her system. Ellis dismissed them after speaking with Aurora, and two by two, they Apparated back.

Charlie waited by the mouth, unwilling to let Aurora stay alone with the dragon, no matter how well behaved it had been. Dragons were volatile at best; he had experience with their mood swings. He watched Aurora as she murmured to the dragon, catching bits and pieces of a growling, guttural sound escaping her throat. His eyes widened, his suspicions confirmed. She _could_ speak with dragons.

The Ridgeback sighed a deep breath, lifting her head from Aurora's lap so that the witch could maneuver her way down, albeit a bit stiffly. She nodded, murmured something else, and then left, walking back to the mouth of the cave, extinguishing the self-sustaining light she must've cast upon entering the den.

She paused when she spotted Charlie, surprised to see him standing there. Nervously, she bit her bottom lip, and Charlie felt his breathing hitch.

"Did you?" she asked, casting a wary glance over her shoulder to the now resting dragon.

"I didn't see, or hear," he added with a wry grin. "A thing."

She smiled, and Charlie took notice of the similarities in bone structure between herself and Sirius. He felt himself smiling back.

They walked out of the den side by side, and Charlie felt as if a jolt of electricity hit him when Aurora took him by the arm and Apparated them back to the mess hall, where most of the other keepers were beginning to grab some supper.

"I want to check on her daily until the eggs come and her wounds heal," Aurora said, taking a tray and reaching for some sort of meat dish. "After that she should be fine on her own."

"She'll heal more quickly than we originally thought," Charlie told her, piling plate upon plate onto his own tray. "Now that she has the potions and poultices in her system, and all."

They took up seats at a semi-empty table and soon dug in, both exceedingly ravenous after their work. Charlie was finishing up when he spied Aurora watching him, her gray eyes intent on him. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Charlie stopped, downing a draft of ale like a champ.

"What?" he asked, unable to handle her direct gaze any longer. She smirked, the action so Sirius that Charlie had to blink; he hadn't known Sirius as well as his brothers or sister, but he'd known him enough that seeing his quirks were disorientating.

"Does your mother know of your Muggle tattoos?" she asked wryly. Charlie glanced at his arms, seeing the ink stand out in relief against his skin. He never thought about what he was wearing on the Reserve; anything that he could work in was fine with him. But he always wore sleeves at the Burrow. His mum would have a litter of kneazles, and no doubt his dad would be more curious about how he received them than anything else.

"No," he said, his mouth quirking at the sides. "And she'll never know, if I have anything to say about it."

Aurora laughed, and Charlie found that he liked the sound of it; light and feminine, but still husky in tone. "What are they?" she asked, staring at his arm. He stretched it out across the table, twisting it so that she could see the names inked alongside the barbed wire.

"The names of my family," he said, allowing her to read them silently to herself as he read them out loud. "My mum and dad, my mum's brothers, Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon, my elder brother Bill, younger brothers, Percy, though for a while there I debated getting him on at all…the twins, George and Fred." He paused, taking a deep breath; losing Fred had been hard on them all, most especially George, who for a while acted as if it was all some elaborate hoax Fred was playing on them all. "Ron, and Ginny. When Bill got married, I added Fleur alongside his. I expect I'll be adding Hermione on soon."

Aurora looked on in fascination at the intricate work. Each name had been done in an elegant script, flowing like water yet still masculine enough to be on Charlie's arm. The name of his older brother, Bill, was connected to the dainty name of _Fleur_ by some sort of binding filigree, same as his parents' names. It was an artistic symbol for marriage, she supposed, and the comment he'd made about Hermione Granger, who was well known to be dating his brother Ron, made her smile. But three of the names had symbols next to them, tiny things, but clear enough for her to see that it was two crossed wands, forming a bold X.

"What does that mean?" she asked carefully, unable to stop herself from tracing the design with her forefinger. Charlie knew what she meant.

"My uncles and my brother, Fred, died in the Wars," he said in a low tone. Aurora looked up at him in surprise. "Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon during the First, when I was just turning eight, and Fred two years ago, at the Battle of Hogwarts. He had just turned twenty."

"I'm so sorry," Aurora murmured, drawing her hand away gingerly, as if he were a Horntail ready to strike. They were quiet, Horntails were, when they wanted to be. Desperate to distract a now visibly brooding Charlie, she looked to his other shoulder, the one where tongues of flame were licking over his skin. She cleared her throat. "And the other one?"

The corner of Charlie's mouth quirked up, and his ice blue eyes found hers with a smoldering fire beneath them. Aurora felt her breath hitch, and her pulse speed up.

"I don't reveal all my secrets to a stranger, Miss Cartwright," he said in a severe voice. "At least, not usually."

"Right," she drawled, slipping into her sarcasm like a second glove. She did it when she was nervous.

He laughed, taking another long drink of his ale. "So, how did you get into keeping?" he asked, quirking his head to the side in a calculated motion. "You can't be more than a few years out of school."

Ignoring the barb, she shrugged her shoulders. "A couple of representatives came by the Institute to speak with our Care of Magical Creatures teacher; she's a bit of an eccentric but is absolutely amazing."

"Want to see eccentric, you should meet Hagrid, the Gamekeeper up at Hogwarts," Charlie replied. "Among his normal pet of a boarhound he had an Acromantula, a baby dragon, Ridgeback, naturally," he smiled, shaking his head. "And a giant three-headed dog he proceeded to call Fluffy."

Aurora felt her eyes go wide at the prospects. "You're not kidding?" He smacked his lips together, suppressing a grin.

"Who do you think had to secret the dragonet out of the castle?" he asked her. Aurora shook her head.

"It sounds as if your Hagrid and my Professor Griffith would get along very well," she said humorously. "Regardless, they came to observe her class of Fourth Primers to see if any of us had a knack for their craft, and-"

"Excuse me," Charlie said, a look of stupefaction on his face. "Fourth what-ers?"

"Fourth Primers. Seventh years, for you Brits," she said. "The Salem Institute has several main campuses across the country, but the one in Salem is the largest. They divide the school into two levels; Tyros and Primers. Tyros are the beginners, or your first through third years, and they study the broader points of subjects. Primers are like Fourth through Seventh years, and they go into separate housing based on whatever specialty they want to potentially work for. They study the main subjects, but in addition, their electives are what they hope to be. One of mine was Care of Magical Creatures, and as a Fourth Primer, Directors and the like of different organizations will stop by from time to time to gauge our levels, to see if anyone has the skills they're looking for."

"Sounds bloody complicated," Charlie grumbled, making Aurora grin. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Professor Griffith happens to be very good friends with the Director of the Arctic Reserve, they went to school together or something like that. It's why we were able to study a unit on the mysteries surrounding it. It just so happened," she said with a curious tone. "That the day they came by, we were doing a unit on dragons. There was a complicated illusion that Griffith used for her Fourth Primers; she could simulate a live dragon in its natural habitat. It was like a final exam for us. She'd give us a scenario and we'd have to try and use our knowledge to successfully do whatever we were asked. The Director observed me taking on an Ukrainian Ironbelly. He began recruiting me almost immediately, saying I had a natural talent for working with dragons. I left for the Reserve the day after graduating."

She took a quick drink of her butterbeer, looking to Charlie. "What about you? How'd you get involved?"

Charlie rubbed his hands together, feeling the blisters and callouses on his palms. "Always got on with most beasts. Used to drive my mum bonkers, to tell you the truth. When a position opened up on the Romanian Reserve, I took them up on it. Course, I left halfway through my sixth year of school. Mum wasn't pleased."

Aurora smiled at the way his ears turned bright, tomato red at the memory. He must've gotten a real bad lecturing afterwards.

"I was there for a few years, and my director recommended me for a promotion up in Wales. I was surprised when I got it, truth be told. I've been here, oh, about a year and a half, now."

Aurora suddenly felt as if the whole day had landed right on top of her shoulders, dragging her eyelids down and causing a monstrous yawn to erupt from her mouth. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon.

Charlie, seeing the young witch's exhaustion, stood up, banishing the dinnerware to waste bin over in the corner. He extended a hand to her, to which Aurora took gratefully with her own. Charlie couldn't help but marvel at the smooth texture of her palms compared to his own, and upon a closer look, he noticed that she seemed to have hardly suffered any of the routine burns that most Keepers had by their fourth week of work.

Allowing her to lean on him, Charlie began to lead her back to her guest cottage, voicing his question. He felt her shoulders shrug.

"Ice doesn't leave the same marks as fire," she said, fighting back another yawn. "The burns I do have, you can't see." Charlie looked down at her, intrigued. Reading his intention, Aurora slapped his arm, with little more than kitten strength. "Plus, it helps when you can talk to them."

Charlie knew that she hadn't meant to say that, especially when she slapped a hand over her mouth, gray eyes wide with fear. Charlie laughed, helping her up the stairs of the cottage's porch. "I wouldn't know," he said, pleased when she smiled gratefully.

"See you tomorrow?" she asked sleepily.

Charlie felt a strange urge to brush back the wisps of hair that had escaped her plait, to follow her inside the cottage and make sure that the last thing she'd do was sleep. He fisted his hands inside his trouser pockets, nodding once to her.

He heard her door close with a gentle click, and he shook his head, muttering to himself.

"Get it together, Weasley," he murmured darkly. "She doesn't need or want your baggage."

**Now, I know that in the books, Ms. Rowling doesn't mention anything about Charlie having tattoos; that it was Bill who was supposed to be the cool one. But I got to thinking; Charlie was the first one to leave Hogwarts without finishing, and working with dragons deserves a level of cool-ness. For whatever reason, I see him with tattoos, but I also see him as incredibly thoughtful and though subdued, protective of his family. In order to learn what his other tattoo is, please review! :)**


	5. Time and Thyme Again

**I've really been appreciating all the reviews! It's amazing that so many people have responded to my writing and I'm so grateful! Thank you all for reading Aurora's story! :)**

**Chapter Five**

Aurora felt as if she'd just closed her eyes, giving into her exhaustion at long last, when she was driven awake by furious rapping against her cottage door. Orion shrieked his indignation, flapping those large wings of his so that a noisy whooshing sound rang in her ears. Aurora bolted upright, her wand already in her grasp, her eyes narrowed at the door. The alarm clock on the night stand said it was two thirty-five, and from the deep indigo of the starry sky, she knew it wasn't the afternoon.

She marched to the door, wand at the ready, and flung it open, a vicious retort on her tongue. It shriveled up in her throat when she found Charlie Weasley on the other side.

"Charlie? What are you doing here?" she asked, suddenly very aware of what she was wearing. Or what she wasn't wearing. She shivered as the cool night breeze came in through the door, and she was second guessing her decision to wear a pair of boxer shorts and midriff baring wife-beater.

For his part, Charlie looked like he'd only just rolled out of bed, his hair in a wild disarray and his dark tank top inside out. He blinked blurrily at her, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He ran a casual hand through his hair, trying to wake himself up.

"Adrian was on duty tonight," he said, fighting back a yawn. "His wand went off. The Ridgeback's having her eggs."

Aurora felt the sleepiness drain away completely. "Give me a minute to change."

Charlie nodded, but his eyes widened, as if he'd just taken notice of the state she was in. Aurora shut the door before he could comment, throwing on a pair of jeans and her boots, strapping her utility belt on and grabbing a rubber band on her way out the door. She'd put her hair up on the way to the enclosure.

When she opened the door once more, some of the drowsiness had left him, and they fell into easy steps against the quiet morning. "Who else is there?" she asked, weaving her hair into a plait deftly. Charlie rolled his shoulders back, popping several joints along the way.

"Just Adrian and Ellis," he said, casting a glance in her direction. "I figured you'd want it quiet."

_You knew I couldn't have a lot of witnesses_, she thought, tying off the braid with a flourish. She gave him a grateful smile, gripping her wand in her hand.

"Ready?" she asked. He nodded, and they Apparated to the enclosure, at the base of the Ridgeback's mountain den. Ellis was pacing as anxiously as an expectant father, ringing his hands together. Adrian was leaning against the cliff side, twirling his wand between his fingers, a look of complete boredom dominating his face. A blinding white smile lit up his face when he spotted Aurora and Charlie, and he offered her a flamboyant bow at her entrance.

Aurora stifled a smile, focusing instead on Ellis as he came hurrying over, casting worried glances up over his shoulder. She missed the dark glare Charlie sent in Adrian's direction.

"Miss Cartwright, you and I shall assist the Ridgeback," he said, an eager look in his eyes that somewhat worried her. She remembered Edmund's letter mentioning that births were uncommon on the Welsh Reserve. "Charlie and Adrian, you'll remain out here, on security."

Adrian snapped Ellis a salute before returning to his leaning, but Aurora stepped forward, her eyes finding Charlie's. "Actually, sir, I think it would be better if I went in alone. Especially when she's under such strain."

"I cannot just let you into a volatile dragon's den, by yourself," he reasoned. Aurora felt her gray eyes narrow.

"Are you implying that I can't handle myself, sir?" she asked in a deceptively pleasant tone. "If so, I'd be more than happy to return to my cabin for the morning."

Ellis's face drained of color. He knew the only way of observing first hand a batch of hatchlings was for her to get him there. He couldn't argue with her if he eventually wished for that.

"I'd be more than happy to accompany Miss Cartwright," Charlie said, his voice intense and quiet. Aurora nodded, going against protocol and defying the Director's orders, something she never did. But this was bigger than her, and sometimes, defying protocol was necessary.

Aurora took hold of Charlie's arm, Apparating them to the den's mouth, where a staggering amount of heat was now gathering. She found the small forms of Ellis and Adrian below, and took a calming breath to steady her nerves. The pained growls and snarls coming from within the den didn't help, though.

She felt a pair of rough hands on her shoulders, and those nerves disappeared. Aurora suddenly felt her back pressed against hard muscles, and her breath caught in her throat.

"I'm right behind you," Charlie said softly, his deep voice sending chills down her spine. Aurora nodded, trying to focus on the task at hand.

_**Dracona, can you hear me?**_ She asked, her arms trembling in fear. She'd never spoken to a dragon in front of anyone other than Edmund, and she briefly wondered what she sounded like to Charlie right now.

_Aurora, is that you?_ The Ridgeback's voice was labored and strained, a harsh wheezing to it making Aurora nervous in a different way.

_**Yes, Dracona. I heard that it's your time. **__**May I come in?**_

_Please,_ was all she said, and all the encouragement Aurora needed to hustle into den. She nearly stumbled back by the intense heat billowing out in steams, and she felt her skin flush and break into a sweat. Wand in hand, she sent a cooling charm over herself, encasing herself in a sphere of cold air so that she could focus. A sharp glance over her shoulder showed Charlie doing the same.

The Ridgeback was huddled in the furthest reaches of the den, her hide paler than Aurora had ever seen it. Several of the large boulders that had been there yesterday glowed a dull orange, having been melted down by the Dracona's anguished flames. Her intelligent eyes lighted on Aurora, puffs of steam wafting from her snout. Her sides heaved in huge gasps of air, and her injured tail was wrapped around her hindquarters. Aurora could just make out the tops of four glossy, onyx-like eggs.

_**Is there anything we can do for you?**_ Aurora asked, taking easy, measured steps into the den. She could hear Charlie mimicking her.

_Cool air. _

Aurora repeated the request, and together, she and Charlie began cooling the den down, cutting the sweltering heat nearly in half and eliminating the cloying humidity altogether. When the Ridgeback breathed again, it lacked the frightening rattle that had been coming from her throat. She extended her neck forward, pressing her snout into Aurora's shoulder in a friendly, grateful gesture.

_It shouldn't be much longer,_ the Dracona said softly, her amber eyes drifting close. Aurora settled herself on the hard ground of the den, resting her back on cooled stalagmite. Charlie remained near the entrance, keeping a respectful distance away.

_**You know, **_Aurora said, keeping up a pleasant conversation. The Dracona's vertically slit eyes opened, curiosity shining through. _**I never did get your name.**_

She huffed out a growl-like laugh, exhaling a spray of hot steam into the air. Silently, Aurora cast another cooling charm, knowing that the cooler she kept herself, the easier it would go.

_I never knew my true mother,_ she said. _I was traded as an egg. The only name I have is human-given._

Aurora felt her eyebrow raise, a smile tugging on her lips.

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

Charlie watched for nearly two hours, casting cooling charms intermittently just to keep him preoccupied. In reality, he was studying the witch conversing with the dragon, completely absorbed in the deep, guttural language he'd never heard before. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, not even his brothers, but Charlie Weasley was mesmerized.

He stepped forward when the dragon roared in pain, extending her neck up and exhaling a glowing stream of flame, drenching the den in white hot heat. He felt his sustaining cooling charm evaporate, his skin breaking into a sweat before he had time to blink. Hastily, he scoured the den with cold air, steam spiraling up into the air as hot and cold collided. His eyes never left the unwavering form of Aurora.

Distantly, as if the memory had its own agenda, Charlie recalled the time when he sat with Bill, the night before his wedding, nearly three years ago. They hadn't seen each other in some time, and they were out back at the Burrow, sharing a bottle of Fire whiskey and staring up at the dark night sky, like when they'd been younger. Bill had had a look of blissful elation on his face, and Charlie found himself smirking at his elder brother's behavior.

"Never would have thought to see you reduced to this," he remarked, folding his hands behind his head like a pillow. Bill snorted.

"Reduced to what?" he retorted, eyes following a shooting star as it shot across the night.

"To marriage," Charlie said, flexing his arm, his most recent burns stretching taut across his skin. "I distinctly recall you saying to anyone and everyone around that you'd never get hitched."

Bill shrugged, unconcerned at what he'd said in the past. "Things change. It was only a matter of time, I suppose."

It was Charlie's turn to snort, rolling his eyes. Bill chuckled, taking another swig from the dusty bottle.

"Just you wait, Charlie," Bill said, his voice deepening into a sever warning. "One day you'll stop seeing dragons and beasts, and you might find something even more dangerous."

Standing in the dragon's den, watching as this incredible witch worked her magic, he felt his brother's advice take hold of him. He was less concerned about the laboring dragon than he was about Aurora.

After several more outbursts of flame, causing Charlie to think of nothing but cooling charms for quite some time, the noise dropped dramatically, and he watched as Aurora gently stroked a now slumbering Ridgeback, her tail curled protectively around five glorious eggs.

He watched as Aurora smiled, such a small gesture, but enough to make his gut tighten. Her cool gray eyes met his, and he found himself holding his breath as she walked steadily to him. He caught himself staring at her hair, which had become unbound during her work, and which now stuck to her skin, tendrils of raven black against alabaster skin.

"She's fine," she said, her voice rough but sincerely relieved. "Tired, and she'll be needing some sustenance in the morning, but she'll be absolutely fine for the last two quads."

Her glee was infectious, and Charlie found his lips curling into a smile.

"I'll be sure to get the herders a nice selection for her," he said, walking alongside her as they exited the cave. Despite their numerous cooling charms, the fresh air was like a blast of icy freshness. Charlie inhaled deeply, breathing in the night air of the mountains.

"I do have a question, though," she said, pushing her hair back behind her shoulders. Charlie clenched his fingers into fists, fighting the urge touch the silky strands himself. Aurora looked up at him, her gray eyes silver in the early morning light. Sunrise would be coming soon.

"Who names a dragon Norberta?"

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

Several more hours of sleep and a shower later, Aurora found herself walking out and about in the Welsh Reserve, pausing at different enclosures to read what they were for and which breeds they housed. The first thing she'd done was made sure that Norberta had been properly fed that morning, and when that had been confirmed, she found herself bored and looking for something to do.

She spotted a group of familiar looking wizards exiting an enclosure, striding in the direction of the mess hall. She recognized one of them as Grant, who she'd worked with yesterday. He waved in her direction, calling out her name as an invitation for her to join them. Smiling despite herself, Aurora hustled over.

"We heard that the Ridgeback delivered her eggs this morning," he said by way of greeting. "I guess we have you to thank for that."

Aurora arched an eyebrow, keeping time with their ground eating steps. "How do you figure that?"

"We didn't have much in the ways of knowing how bad she was, and I doubt that she would've made it through. But, thanks to your expertise, we now have a healthy recovering Ridgeback and five eggs in incubation."

Aurora nodded, accepting the Keepers gratitude silently as they walked inside the crowded building. They grabbed trays of food, sitting down at a semi-empty table, discussing the weekend.

"Hey, Aurora, you up for it?"

Aurora looked up, surprised to find that it was Adrian addressing her. She hadn't noticed that he'd sat down with them.

"Up for what?" she asked, feeling slightly behind. He smiled, swallowing a bite of potato.

"We're heading into the town tonight," he said, gesturing to the group around him. "There's half-priced pints and live music. It's a way we blow off steam here on the Reserve." Aurora found several pairs of eyes trained on her, waiting eagerly for her answer. "So, are you in?"

Aurora took a long drink of her butterbeer, savoring the flavor. Her lips spread into a wide smile.

"Definitely."

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

Charlie stared at the half finished mural on the far wall of his bedroom, his paint covered hands twirling the brush absentmindedly. He gave up a large sigh, glancing at his clock and muttering a curse under his breath. He hurried into the shower, giving it a tap until the water scalded and steamed. He scrubbed until his skin was red, drying off quickly and dressing in the pair of wool trousers and button down shirt he reserved for occasions outside of the Reserve.

"Why bother?" he muttered, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows as was his habit. He laced up his dragon hide boots, and was considering doing something to his hair when a light knocking sounded on his door. Furrowing his brow, he headed out into the welcome hall, pulling the door open to see who was outside.

Charlie promptly forgot every thought he'd just had, his mouth feeling dryer than the morning after an all-night binge.

"Aurora?" he asked, finally getting his voice to work. "What brings you here?"

"An opinion really," she said, and he watched her cheeks stain a becoming rosy color. Was she blushing? "I have no idea what protocol to go by for tonight."

Her clothes. She was asking if she was dressed alright for the pub tonight. Secretly, Charlie felt pleased that she had come to him, asking for his opinion. And then he saw what she was wearing, and he had to forcefully keep himself from hauling her inside, and making damn sure that no one else saw her.

She was wearing a black dress, the fabric expertly hugging her curves in all the right places. It had a layer of black lace to it, covering her arms and collarbone, but somehow, that small bit of skin it did show did something for Charlie that even the slinkiest, tube dress could never do. It hit her mid-thigh, and the sky high leather heels brought her eye level with him. Her long, black hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders and down her back, and somehow she'd made her eyes look silver and blue at the same time.

Charlie swallowed, surprised at his own possessiveness when he looked at her. Especially because he had no claim to that possessiveness. He heard himself clear his throat, and when he spoke, his voice was rougher and deeper than before. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

"You look incredible," he said honestly. He'd never been one to lie. She smiled, obviously relieved, and a small part of him swelled in pride at having made her smile like that.

"Do you want to head over together?" she asked, more at ease with herself. Charlie found that her confidence was something he admired about her. He felt himself smile at her.

"Sure," he said, reaching his arm out to snag his wallet from the bureau by the door. He stepped onto the porch, locking the door with a wave of his wand. Still grinning like a school boy, he extended his arm, shocked when lightening crackled over his skin when she touched him. Before he could dwell on it, he spun on the spot, Apparating them into the crowded street of the town, filled with noises and sights and smells. He watched as Aurora took it in with large, wonder-struck eyes, letting her adjust for a bit before tugging her onto the sidewalk, steering her in the direction of the pub.

"This isn't like the Leaky Cauldron," he warned, coming up to the door of the Wheatsheaf Hotel. "It's a mixed pub, but they've usually got the best live entertainment in Caerphilly."

Aurora smiled at him before ducking through the door, and Charlie watched as her eyes circulated the room before landing on their group. He followed her chosen path to their booth and adjoined table, where half a dozen of the Keepers sat, several pints already emptied. He tried to keep his glares to a minimum, but seeing as how every man, Muggle and Wizard, was staring at Aurora, that was nigh impossible.

"Charles, my man! I see we have you to thank for holding the lovely Miss Cartwright up!" Adrian's voice was a bit louder than usual, and from the ruddiness of his dark cheeks, Charlie guessed he'd been taking full advantage of the half-price sale.

Aurora smiled at Adrian, diffusing the tension, and slipped into the booth beside Adrian, asking for a pint when the barmaid stopped by. Charlie didn't like the way Adrian's face lit up when Aurora chose to sit by him, nor did he like the casual way his arm hung behind her seat. He ordered a bourbon.

The night wore on as per usual, with several mediocre Muggle bands stepping up to the speaker system to play a few songs of their set list. The conversation never seemed to end, and Charlie wondered why he seemed to not be having a good time. He'd never been the rowdy sort, but he looked forward to these weekend breaks like anyone else. He suspected that it had everything to do with Aurora, and all the male attention she was receiving.

_Not that it's any of your business, Weasley,_ he reminded himself harshly. He swirled the contents of his third bourbon, forcing himself not to down the rest when Adrian asked Aurora to dance. The Muggle band up now was quite good, and the meager spot that had been transformed into a dance floor was fast becoming crowded. His knuckles turned white when she accepted, leading the way to the spot and completely missing the sly high five Adrian received from Cary, one of the newer Keepers and Adrian's roommate.

He downed the rest of his drink, calling for another.

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

Aurora had to admit, she hadn't expected Adrian of all people to be a good dancer. Alas, she was mistaken, and she couldn't help the delighted laugh that escaped as he spun her under his arm and dipped her back. She knocked into another couple on her way up, and from the dirty looks she got, no amount of apologizing would make up for it.

But despite the fun she was having, she couldn't help it when, every few seconds, her eyes would wander back to the Keepers' regular booth, fixated on the most sullen man there. She couldn't figure him out; he'd seen perfectly fine when they'd left earlier, but he hadn't said a single word to her all night, ordering one rich colored drink after another. The miraculous thing was that he didn't seem to be in the least bit affected by all the drinking. Charlie Weasley was a man who could hold his liquor.

She'd be lying to herself if she said that she hadn't gotten dolled up tonight for him. After receiving the invitation during lunch, she'd Apparated to the nearest shop, finding this vintage dress for a steal. The shoes had been a splurge after she spotted them in the window across the street.

He looked good, in an effortless way that none of the other wizards around him were able to manage. The black button down brought out the intensity in his blue eyes and the flame-hues of his hair, and showcased his powerfully built shoulders. She had to internalize the sigh that had been about to escape her throat.

Adrian spun her into him, shaking Aurora from her thinking. He smiled when she caught hold of his arm, struggling to find her balance.

"How long have you been out of school?" he asked her, leaning close so that he wouldn't have to shout over the loud music.

"A year, or so," she said, watching his face blink in surprise. "You?"

"Four," he answered. "I left for the Reserve right after I finished."

She nodded, finding herself looking for Charlie through the crowd of people. Adrian's hand on her hip brought her attention back.

"Are you dating anyone back at the Arctic Reserve?" he asked, the bluntness of the question startling a laugh from her.

"What makes you ask that?" she asked, looking up at him. Even in her heels, she had to tilt her head back to see into his eyes.

"I've heard that the Arctic Reserve is made up of mostly wizards," he shrugged nonchalantly. "I figured that you'd be a commodity."

There had been a few times when she'd gone out on dates with some of the Keepers near her age, but the Arctic Keepers were always so intense about every aspect of their lives, even away from their work. It's what made them so exceptional. But it also made them a tad bit forward, and Aurora hadn't been looking for a marriage right out of school. It was easier to just maintain friendships and work partnerships than any actual relationship.

_I wouldn't mind one with Charlie, though_, she thought, mentally jarring her. Where had that come from?

"Too complicated up there," she said simply, more focused on her thoughts than on Adrian. He nodded, a pleased smile on his lips.

"So, no relationship? No bloke that I'm going to have to duel?" he asked, his joking nature masking the seriousness of his questions. Aurora, oblivious to the difference, laughed again, shaking her head.

"No, no duels," she affirmed, pulling herself closer to Adrian to avoid stomping on any toes around her. The space on the dance floor had become practically nonexistent. She was only half aware of Adrian's arm around her waist, holding her close. She did, however, notice when his other hand brushed her cheek, light as a feather. It was all she could do not to shove him back when he kissed her.

He wasn't a bad kisser, and by the expert way he covered her mouth she knew that he'd definitely had plenty of experience. But it wasn't that revelation that caused Aurora to stumble back, eyes wide and a hand over her mouth. It was the broken glass that had sounded through the pub like a whip crack, spilt alcohol dripping over the polished table top and onto the floor, and the storming figure exiting the scene.

"Excuse me," Aurora said, pushing her way by a surprised Adrian and gawking onlookers, watching as several of the Keepers apologized to the ruffled barmaid. Aurora hurried out the door, the fresh air hitting her fevered skin like a slap in the face. She desperately hoped that he hadn't Apparated back to the Reserve, or elsewhere, and let out a sigh of relief when she saw him stalking his way down Market Street, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants, head bowed against the crisp wind that was picking up. She hurried after him, wincing at the click of her heels on the stone.

"Charlie!" she called out, noticing the way the set of his shoulders stiffened imperceptibly before he lengthened his stride. Was he actually ignoring her?

More determined than before she cast a silencing charm over her heels, so that she could run faster without him noticing. It was definitely by surprise when she caught him by the arm, spinning herself in front of him and forcing Charlie to stop in his tracks.

Aurora took in the dark expression clouding his face, the firm clench of his jaw and the storm clouds brewing in his icy blue eyes; they looked several shades darker, and from what she couldn't tell. She saw then that his left hand was bleeding, and she knew it was from the broken glass. Had he squeezed it until it broke?

"Let me see that," she said gently, her hands reaching for his arm. She ignored the zinging in her fingertips from where she touched his skin, and found herself frowning when he snatched his arm from her.

"I'm fine," he said, his voice deep and thick with some emotion. From what she'd observed, she would've guessed anger.

She arched an eyebrow at him and slipped into her sarcasm like a glove. "Oh, really? Because it sure looks that way," she snapped, glancing to his injured hand.

"I'll get it cleaned up at the Reserve," he shot back, glaring. Yup, definitely anger.

"Why the hell are you being so stubborn?" she asked, feeling her own temper flaring. "And what happened back there?"

"It's none of your concern," he replied stiffly. It occurred to Aurora then that she was perfectly eye level with Charlie in these six inch shoes, and that there was barely an inch separating them. The tension between them was palpable, but she couldn't figure out where it had come from.

"And besides," he said, his lip curling into a sneer that she didn't like on him. "Adrian probably is looking for you. You two looked pretty cozy in there, and I'd hate to intrude."

Aurora's eyes widened, but not from his comments. Was Charlie…was he _jealous_? But no, that would be ridiculous. He couldn't be jealous, not when there was nothing going on between the two of them. Despite what Aurora could feel herself wishing. She quirked her head to the side, gazing intently at his eyes.

"Why would you care about my personal life?" Her voice had been curious and soft, and her earlier comparison had been right; he was definitely a Horntail. He was in need of some gentleness when ticked off. Charlie jerked back as if she'd slapped him, a muscle in his jaw jumping in anger, and she knew then that he was. He was jealous. And that meant that he felt something for her. The thought threatened to bring a smile to her face.

"I don't," he said, trying to sound detached. But he couldn't fool her, not anymore. Aurora trusted her instincts, and they'd never let her down before. Before he could say or do anything she reached for his wrist, tapping a basic cleaning and healing spell on his hand that she'd mastered in her first Prime. It would be sore, but it was clear of infection. Finished, she looked back to Charlie, startled when she saw his eyes. They were heated and hungry, and Aurora's heart picked up its pace. She could hear her blood rushing through her veins.

"And if I want you to?" she asked, her voice quieter than a whisper. Charlie needed no further encouragement; he had both his hands cupping her face, holding her still as his mouth covered hers gently, lighting a wave of heat inside of her that rivaled Norberta's den. Her arms wound around his waist, pulling him closer.

She felt the roughness of his palms on her skin, and felt her bones melt into gelatin when he deepened the kiss, the hunger she'd seen in his eyes escalating. He tasted of bourbon and something spicy, like cinnamon. It was addictive.

Charlie broke first, resting his forehead against hers, his ragged breathing in sync with her own. Aurora noticed then that her hands had drifted up his chest, and she could feel his heart beating beneath her palm. She was pressed tightly against him, but she didn't mind. From his satisfied smile, she guessed that he didn't either.

"Care to share an opinion, Mr. Weasley?" she asked, trailing her lips across his cheek. Her skin buzzed as his hands stroked through her hair and down her spine, splaying across her waist in a possessive grip that excited her.

"You and Adrian?" he asked, his voice sending chills up her arms.

"Nothing," she said firmly, her hands locking around his neck. "If he likes me, then I can't do anything about it. It doesn't mean I feel the same way. One kiss doesn't change anything."

Charlie's eyes sparked wickedly, and she gasped in surprise when he began kissing her throat, working his way up to the corner of her mouth. He played there, teasing her.

"Then I guess I'd better kiss you again," he said deeply.

And kiss her he did.

**(oOoOoOoOo)**

Harry tip toed into the kitchen, hoping not to wake Ginny from her sleep. He'd prefer to make this trip alone, and he wanted to be back before she woke. Sliding into a light jacket, he grabbed his wand and made his way out onto the Welcome mat outside the door of his flat, his official Apparition point. A moment later he was outside the kissing gate of Godric Hollow's cemetery, the cool night air nipping at his cheeks.

The streets were silent, the golden glow of the street lamps providing a gentle light in addition to the full moon. He slipped through the gate, his measured strides sure of their path between the mausoleums and headstones. After a few minutes of easy walking, he found what he was looking for, and took a deep breath as he stared at the familiar names on the white marble, slightly lighting the darkness. With a wave of his wand he replaced the dead flowers wreathing the grave, replacing it with a fresh bouquet of lilies and ivy.

"Hey Mum," he whispered to the silent night. "Hi Dad."

His parents' graves had become a source of salvation for him in the months immediately following the war, the one place where he could grieve and mourn and heal in complete peace. Since that time, he stopped by from time to time to talk to them, update them on his life or to ask advice, even though he knew they wouldn't answer. It gave him peace.

But tonight wasn't a usual visit. Harry was here for the white marble headstone beside his father's, the one where his Godfather had been put to rest, even though there hadn't been a body. And beside Sirius's headstone was the joined one of Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, which Harry had added after the war. Together once more in death, as in life. The bottom of each grave marker, so tiny that one wouldn't notice it unless they were looking for it, was an inscription had been added to each Marauder's headstone, each the same.

_Mischief Managed._

Another wave of his wand and Remus's grave was covered in a mixture of wolfsbane and cattail, displacing the dried out arrangement he'd left before.

Harry knelt in front of Sirius, running a hand over the bare marble name. He sighed, the words getting caught in his throat.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius," he whispered, knowing with conviction that his Godfather would hear him. "That you didn't know you had a daughter. That you didn't get to know her. That you couldn't see," he paused, ducking his emerald gaze to the ground. "That you couldn't see how similar she is to you. And I'm sorry that she'll never get to meet you. But I promise you, Sirius, I swear to you, that I will help her. She is your family, and you were mine. I swear to you."

He paused, swiping at the tears on his cheeks with the back of his hands. With a rattling breath he stood, casting one more flower arrangement before he left. This one of rosemary and thyme.

Time. He would need much more of it, and so would Aurora.

**Please welcome back the timely appearance of Hagrid's Norberta! You know I couldn't have just made a Ridgeback by accident ;) Please review! I'd really appreciate the feedback. Oh, and for those who will wonder at my choice of flowers at the end here, for Lily and James's grave, lilies are a subtle remembrance for Lily, whereas the ivy is representative of fidelity and friendship. Wolfsbane I felt was appropriate for Remus, and cattails are for peace, which I feel both Remus and Tonks deserve. And rosemary is for remembrance, whereas thyme is for strength, courage, and peaceful sleep.**


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